Where's The Silver Lining?
by surreal-pizza
Summary: Pre-series AU. John is the abuser. Sam is the victim. Dean doesn't know and his family members plan to keep it that way. A lot of hurt Sam and John being a dick. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: strong language, abuse, blood, depression, suicidal thoughts... more warnings will appear in later chapters.**

**Sam is 15, Dean is 19.**

Four days ago, it wouldn't have mattered. But now, it was different. Now, Dean couldn't look into his father's eyes without wanting to throw punches or something sharp. He wanted to _hurt_ him, just like the bastard had hurt Sam.

**Two weeks before**

It was dark out, just like they wanted it to be. The trunk was loaded and the engine was on. Sam sunk into the backseat with a heavy sigh ignoring the usual pain, this time located around his rib area. He tried to keep his mind off it, but damn, it seemed to hurt more than his usual bruises. He tried to adjust himself in his seat to be more comfortable, but with no success. Luckily, it kept his mind off his other injuries.

Dean slumped down next to him making it challenging for Sam not to let out a whimper. He looked out the window at his dad who was walking briskly towards the car. Sam mind wandered for a moment, _what if I reached out, locked all the doors, stepped on the pedal and just drove off?_

His thoughts were immediately cut off by his father slamming the door shut. His gruff voice filled the silence of the car which had immediately tensed up, although Dean, luckily, and as usual, which was unlucky, didn't notice.

"Why are you sitting in the back, Dean?" He asked, his eyes meeting his son's in the rearview mirror.

"Thought I'd keep Sam company," Dean said, smiling at his father before checking the weapons he had on him. Dean was still angry at Sam because was siding with his father earlier, _again_, but decided to push it aside as he wanted to spend more time with his brother, especially since he seemed to be acting differently. In the spare time of Dean rummaging his coat, and other places where he kept weapons in, his father took the opportunity to glare at Sam in the mirror, his eyes dark, penetrating and unwelcoming. Sam tensed up. Again, Dean didn't take notice. To Sam, he seemed naïve. Their family was far from perfect, but Sam was happy that Dean hadn't found out the worst parts. He unintentionally brushed a hand over his ribs and noticed that they were slightly cracked. _Shit, _Sam thought while chewing on his bottom lip. He wished that he could live in the dream world of his brother where their father wasn't abusive, but knew that things were different for him. He knew that no one, with the occasional exception of Dean, cared for him. He couldn't blame them.

"So," Dean said, looking up at his father, breaking yet another silence, "are we ready to go?" Dean asked innocently, although he couldn't be more excited for the hunt as he had yearned for it, ever since they arrived in town. It had been a while since they had taken something down as big as a Wendigo. John gave a short nod and started the car.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

"Alright there, Sammy?" Dean asked, when they were near the entrance of the forest. His brother had been awfully quiet during the ride, only giving a small unsatisfying "fine" when Dean had asked how school was going. Sam had always been a quiet person, always keeping to himself, but over the last few years he seemed to become more distant, nearly to the point of alienating people.

Sam took a deep breath, covering up his his masked pain that he didn't want Dean to see.

"Yup," he answered, rather confidently, turning to give his brother a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Immediately after, Sam turned back to the window and stared at the flashing fluorescent lampposts as they rapidly drove past them. He just couldn't face Dean right now. Not with what had happened earlier that day. Not with the nearly throbbing pain in his side. He blinked the tears forming in the corner of his eyes away, quickly, before anyone - especially his Dad, as he knew too well what would happen if John found out, that he was crying - saw the tears threatening to roll down his lashes.

The car was completely silent after the dead-panned, again unsatisfying, answer from Sam. The only sound came from the rumbling engine as the music player had broken. Dean didn't know what happened to it, only that he wanted to repair it. Only John and Sam knew why the music player was broken, and it wasn't something they wanted to bring up in front of Dean.

Dean didn't know what else to say. He tried to pick up a conversation, but then decided to drop it. He was annoyed with the short answer Sam had given. It just didn't seem right. It didn't seem like _Sammy_. He had just called him that, where was his usual response? Where was the, "it's Sam, and of course" ?

_Everything about him had seems off lately_, Dean thought. He corrected himself, _not just lately, for more than a while now._

Trying to remember the last time Sam had actually acted like _Sam_, he turned to look out the window himself, when the car, along with his train of thoughts, halted abruptly.

Everything from when the car stopped, to getting the weapons ready, happened so swiftly that Sam could barely keep up because of his most recent injury. His other injuries he had become used to.

"Hurry up, Sam!" He heard his father call angrily. Sam knew that he would have yelled if they weren't on a hunt, with Dean. Sam took a silver knife and bullets, again ignoring his pain. _This is getting tedious, _Sam thought, gritting his teeth together.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

"SAM! For fuck's sake! If you don't start paying attention, you're going to get Dean and I killed!"

_Dean and I._ That wasn't the first time Sam had heard those words in that context.

"Y-yes sir," Sam stuttered through the pain and fear. He closed his eyes. S_tuttering. How pathetic_.

Dean shot his father a look for yelling and swearing which John didn't notice. His focus was on Sam, who had spaced out just a second ago. How was he suppose to hunt, especially when it was a creature like a Wendigo, with a useless son like Sam? At least he had given him an easy job. It was Sam's job to be the bait. Dean had protested this dad's idea.

_"Dad, we're NOT using Sam as bait! What the hell are you _thinking_?" Dean had shouted. His John's eyes flared up._

_"Do NOT use that tone with me boy, I know what's best for the family, and Sammy here," - Sam inwardly cringed when his father called him that name - "_wants_ to be bait."_

_Dean smacked his hand on his face in frustration._

_"Dad, no one _wants_ to be bait." Dean argued. _

_Sam was officially on the spot when they both wheeled their heels towards him. The next thing Sam knew, was that his spit was hard to swallow. The pleading look on his brother's face was tempting, but seeing the dark, threatening look on John's, he decided._

_"Yes, I thought being bait would be a good idea, especially as it would mean that I'm actually doing something useful, for once," Sam said calmly then completely shut up when seeing the hurt look from his brother's face. Dean shook his head._

_"I'm heading out," he said, while grabbing his jacket, swinging it over his shoulder, and slamming the door shut. John thundered towards Sam. _

_"Especially as it would mean that I'm actually doing something useful," he said, imitating Sam before raising his big fist and thrusting it into Sam's stomach, making his son's knees buckle. He then kicked Sam's side. Over and over and over…_

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review as this is my first fanfic, therefore feedback would be extra awesome. :) **

**I'm currently working on chapter two if you're interested. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Not a deathfic!**

**Warnings: (see previous chapter), self-harm**

**Two days after**

"SAM!" Dean screamed, frantically shaking his brother's unconscious body. Sam's tense hand loosened up, only to reveal the empty pill bottle fall heavily onto the floor.

**Eleven days before**

Monday.

Friday's Wendigo hunt was still affecting Sam. The Wendigo had ripped his shirt and left a nasty crimson stain on it. He remembered when they arrived back at the motel. He had walked straight into the bathroom, double checked that it was locked, and lifted his shirt. Four great gashes across his stomach revealed themselves. Fortunately, they weren't too deep.

After an exhausted sigh, he re-checked his throbbing ribs. They hurt much more than before, which was really saying something. Sam gingerly swept a hand across the blue and yellow blotches. He sucked in a breath. _Yup, definitely broken_, he thought while tugging his shirt down.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sitting up with two broken ribs was agony. He kept on hearing his obnoxious alarm ring loudly, but was in too much pain and too tired to do anything about it. He heard his brother groan and saw him reach his sloppy arm over the bedside table, to turn off the alarm.

"Sam, get your lazy ass out of bed and... school," he grumbled into the pillow. He had received a severe punch to the head, and ended up with a concussion. Everything from getting prepared for the hunt, to that morning, seemed like a surreal blur to him. Of course John blamed Sam for not running fast enough.

After a lot of effort, Sam finally got up. Getting dressed was even worse. He wished that somebody could help him tie his damn shoes, because bending forward shot pain through his side, but knew that no knight in shining armour would barge in and save his petty ass.

"_Sam, you can handle a knife but you can't even tie your own shoes," Dean said rolling his eyes._

"_It's hard, there are so many knots and loops," the seven year old complained back. A loud tramping sound, made both the boys' heads snap towards the source. Their father stood in the doorway. He seemed different. He seemed tougher, even though Sam didn't know how that was possible. Dean was the first to speak._

"_Hey dad, what happened?" He asked cautiously, knowing that something was wrong. _

"_Not much, just found something out about your mother's death." He deadpanned emotionless. It took less than a split second for the whole room to fall dead silent. John sat down sluggishly on a hard chair at the table. Dean didn't know what to say and just decided to finish tying Sam's shoes mutely. Sam watched as Dean tied them way too hard, but didn't say anything. He could feel his father's piercing eyes on the back of his neck. What had he done wrong? Was it because he couldn't tie his shoes?_

Sam waddled for the door, his brother and father were asleep too heavily to notice his unsteady walk. Sam knew that John wouldn't care if he was in pain. Instead he'd be angry and would tell him to suck it up. For a moment Sam doubted if Dean cared. He shut the door, letting the cold morning air bite his face.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam entered the classroom and slumped down onto his usual seat in the back. Even though he was one of the few people who actually enjoyed waking up at the crack of dawn in November to go to a school, he sat in the back. This was to avoid bringing unwanted attention to himself. Chatter filled the classroom soon afterwards, but ended when the teacher walked in.

"Therefore x is fifty-two over two, but write twenty-eight, as that would be a better answer," the teacher ended in a patronising tone. To Sam, everything seemed like white noise. His mind kept returning to Friday night's events.

_He ran, shouting so that the Wendigo would run after him, until he couldn't. His aching body slowed him down and soon he could feel the Wendigo's claws against his stomach. That's when he heard an, sadly, familiar sound; Dean had struck the Wendigo in the back with a silver knife. He knew that it wouldn't kill the beast, but it would slow it down. The Wendigo shrieked._

"_Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean asked worriedly, but with a hint of spite in his voice as he had argued against Sam being bait, and now look how that turned out. _

_The next thing the brothers knew, was that Dean was hit in the back of his head, hard. Sam grabbed the half-conscious Dean and scuttled away, when he saw his dad arrive, late, with a lighter and gas. _

The bell rang. Everyone hurried out of their seats and made way for the next class. Sam was the last one to get up, as shifting, even a little, shot a sharp pain on his side. He was still pondering over what had happened on the hunt. Why had John arrived late? What would have happened if Dean hadn't shown up? Would John had left him there? Sam shuddered at the thought, but wasn't surprised if that was why.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

The bell rang again, this time for lunch. Again, everybody leaped out of their seats and left the room. A quick departure was what Sam's class specialized in. Sam followed his class to the cafeteria, where his friend Louis waited for him, as usual.

Something, more like someone, heavy bumped into his shoulder on the way.

"Watch where you're going, freak!" One of the three "trying to be tough" guys, shouted after him.

"Yeah, now what do you say when you walk into people, freak? Or are you too stupid to answer that?" Another one - a short person with short hair with a graphic, sexist t-shirt - contributed, and Sam couldn't help roll his eyes at his pathetic attempt to diss Sam. He couldn't help his next words either, when he snapped right back at them.

"Yes, but I don't know what to say to fucking pigs."

All three boys halted.

The first one, the one who had walked into Sam, turned bright red.

"Shut the fuck up, emo freak!" He pushed Sam into a locker and forcefully grabbed his wrist. "At least I'm not the one who cuts himself, attention whore." The boys snickered.

_Shit, I completely forgot about those_, Sam thought, mentally kicking himself; how, of all people, did _they_ find out? Sam had always made sure to wear long shirts and jeans, he had even gone through the discomfort of wearing them in the summer. He winced as the asshole dug his fingers into the recent scars, letting the blood flow freely.

"Now run off to your boyfriend, Louis, before I get suspended from hurting a freaky fag." Sam stared into the jerk's grim eyes. He just didn't care anymore. They couldn't verbally or physically hurt him like John.

"I didn't know you had anything against gay people, especially since I saw you defend your boyfriend just a minute ago."

Pain in his stomach.

Pain in his head.

Six fist.

Swollen eye.

Taste of blood.

Sam rinsed his new wounds in the vandalized bathroom, before making his way to the cafeteria. He ate silently and mechanically in the corner of the room. He was sure Louis didn't want to eat with him, when he looked like this. Who would want to be seen with a freak like him? He licked his lip once more, stopping the blood that had decided to start again. Sam hesitated on the subject of return home after school. He had to face John there.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.**

**If you want to make my day, please leave a review or a fav. ^^**

**Thanks a bunch, if you've already done that! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: (see chapter one and two)**

Ever since the day he had turned twelve and a half, Sam had always slept with an eye open, except when he was next to Dean. There, curled beneath the duvet, and only if he was alone, he'd been crying silently ever since his father first laid an unwanted hand on him. Now, he didn't cry anymore. He thought he deserved it.

_"It's your fucking fault! You KILLED her, you made her BURN on the ceiling!" Hot tears were streaming down Sam's face._

_"How would you like to burn, huh, Sammy," he continued. "You're a nuisance! Absolutely useless! A disgrace! An abomination to this family!"_

_"Christo," Sam whispered as a last resort before receiving another blow._

That was the day Sam learned he should stick to long shirts.

**Later that day (eleven days before)**

He struggled down the front steps of his school and walked the walk of shame back to the motel. As he walked, hood down below his eyes and shoulders slumped forward, he couldn't help but turn his eyes red and puffy. Sam knew he must have looked like he was on drugs, but didn't care. Why should he care? What did he have to care about? He halted a lot of times while walking, to take a few breaths so that he could get through the pain in his side, not to mention the rest of the aches.

_Stop pitying yourself, idiot,_ Sam thought, irritably kicking a small rock in front of him forcefully. It flew far ahead and into a girl's heal.

"S-sorry," Sam stuttered. Again, stuttering. How pathetic.

He was so stupid. He never did anything right. Why did he even exist when the only thing he'd accomplished properly, was killing his mother?

That was the thing Sam resented the most about himself; he had let John's words get to him.

"It doesn't matter… Are you okay?" The girl asked, looking generally concerned. Sam knew he had seen her before; wavy blond hair, blue eyes… Jessica from his class.

"Yes, I was clumsy and fell," Sam said, knowing that she was looking at his bloodshot eyes, and his bruises and slit lip induced by the jerks from school. If she could see the wound on his stomach, Sam was sure that she was going to run away from him. Him, the freak. He bit his lip so that he didn't scream out in pain when he took an awkward step, making his ribs hurt to a further extent.

"What, fell into a gang of assholes?" Jessica said, taking a step closer to him. "Sam, you know everything they say to you, it's utter bullshit."

Sam looked up at her, why was she lying to him? Or did she actually believe it? He knew that she wouldn't have spoken to him if she had her friends around. This, for once, wasn't Sam's dreadfully low self-esteem talking. At school, reputation was sadly everything.

How she could sound so sincere and comforting while swearing, was another mystery.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, timidly although not meaning one bit of it. He gave a weak smile, keeping his mouth closed. Even though he had washed out all the blood from his mouth, he didn't want to take any chances. He didn't want her - anyone - to see the extent of the damage the bullies, and his father, and himself, had caused.

Jess's smile was warm, contradicting Sam's.

A wave of nausea hit Sam, breaking the moment.

"Sorry, I have to go," he said nearly doubling over.

"Okay… Are you sure you're alright?" Jessica asked.

"Having the time of my life," Sam said, barely audibly, before a quick nod and a painful walk.

Jessica wondered how the boy could keep a sense of humour, when he was in such obvious pain.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

Dean had been suspecting something for ages, he just didn't know what. He knew something was terribly wrong with Sam, but didn't want to jump to conclusion before he was absolutely certain.

His brother had always been an odd type. He had always preferred long shirts, even during the summer, which Dean suspected was because he was ashamed from his hunting scars. Dean hadn't seen Sam's body in... He didn't remember anymore, but he seemed to have more scars than when Dean was his age. Sam had also always so secretive, never telling Dean _exactly_ how he felt. Another peculiar habit he had adapted, was dragging his duvet over his head every night. He always preferred being alone, and sometimes when he was alone, he wasn't doing anything. Just sitting there, alone with his own thoughts. Dean had tried stepping into his shoes, but couldn't. Sometimes it was as though he barely knew his brother. He didn't know how Sam felt, and that made Dean so damn frustrated.

Dean stopped for a moment. Had his brother really always been so secretive? He tried to remember when they were kids, but it was hard because of all they'd been through, and he was, sadly, getting used to how Sam was now. He remembered how Sam had smiled the other day, and his eyes seemed soulless.

He wondered if Sam had ever really been happy and if it was a horrible play he had put on. Doubt and paranoia devoured him. He made a decision. He was going to confront Sam about his suspicion when he had enough evidence to back up his theory. There was a huge issue though; he didn't have a theory. His cluelessness drowned him.

Dean was seventeen back when he made the decision of confronting Sam. At the age of nineteen, he still didn't have enough evidence to confront his younger brother. He had no idea what caused Sam to act so bizarre. Well, he had one terrible, awful, horrendous idea that he couldn't stress enough how ghastly it was, but he denied. There was no way in hell Sam could do that to himself. He was only a kid for crying out loud! No, that wasn't it.

_If only he knew._

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

Everything happened so fast.

Sam collapsed onto the bathroom floor as soon as he entered the motel room. With his head bent over the toilet, he vomited.

Dean had been out for a walk and threw his keys on the bedside table, when he stepped into the motel room.

Sam didn't have enough energy to lock the bathroom door.

Dean heard a terrible sound, followed by a whimper. His face was puzzled as he went over to the bathroom.

Tears flowed uncontrollably down Sam's cheeks as he dry heaved. Dean's sheet white face met his brother's, in the tiny, tilled room. He crouched beside Sam's shaking body.

"Sammy… What happened?" He asked when he saw Sam's swollen eye, split lip and many bruises and cuts.

"My fault," Sam mumbled into the toilet. Dean's heart stopped.

"Sam. No. Was it The Three Doucheketeers?" Sam could do nothing but shake his head, causing the bile to rise again. Sam had encountered the bullies before, but not to this extent. Whenever Sam had seriously fucked up, and received a punch to the head from John, he always told Dean that either he had fallen - a lie Dean could see straight through - or had been pushed by the jerks.

"Sam." Dean said sternly. Sam nodded weakly. This time, one of the few seldom times, other people than John had hurt him, physically. Dean sighed before slamming his fist in the wall making Sam flinch.

A few minutes passed where Dean could think about nothing else than snapping the bastards' necks. Was that why Sam was acting so strange? Had he been bullied by a group of teens for ages? Somehow, that made perfect sense.

He hit the wall in frustration from his blind ignorance. _It made perfect sense_.

When Sam was done crouching over the toilet, Dean flushed it, before carefully helping his brother up, but failing when Sam wouldn't cooperate.

"Hurts too much," he said at last.

"I know, but we need to see the damage the fuckers caused, in a better lighting," Dean replied, tugging at Sam's shirt before accidentally lifting it too far, only to reveal the four gashes from the claws of the Wendigo, and wrecked ribs. His alert and hurt eyes whipped up to Sam's unfocused glare.

"Shit, Sammy." He shook his head jumping to the most logical and partly right conclusion. "Why didn't you tell me the Wendigo hurt you?"

_Is it me, or does Dean sound worried? Is this his head injury talking? He's still pissed at me, I'm such a burden. A nuisance, _Sam thought, trying to look up at Dean but was too much of a coward to do so.

Sam kept silent, and soon Dean's eyes filled with an emotion Sam knew far too well.

"I asked you if you were hurt, and you said no!" Dean growled angrily. Sam stared at him with his famous puppy eyed glare. His eyes were burning with tears.

_I fucked up, badly. I let Dean down_, he thought, sending his watery eyes, towards his feet. _I just didn't want him to see my scars. I'm so stupid, why did I do it? Why can't I stop? _Sam thought, beating himself up. If Dean wasn't here, if he had a sharp object... The possibilities seemed endless. Dean knew what he had said had hurt Sam, but he couldn't help it. He was scared. His brother lying to him. Even though he knew that it was beyond normal for a teenager to lie to their family, he was worried. Why did he hate it so much, to the point of fear, when Sam did something that everyone else also did? Maybe it was because he was acting so strange.

"Sammy," Dean said, softly, holding Sam's face, before passing a quick hand across his brother's side and feeling the broken bones. "Shitshitshit."

Sam flinched away at his touch, making Dean look even more hurt, even though he had expected it. Broken bones hurt at the touch.

Sam could do nothing but roll into a painful ball of self-pity and loathing, when he reached his bed. Dean couldn't help but hovering over him.

**Eight days before**

Dean's mending of Sam's ribs, had helped the younger brother a lot. Hiding his self-inflicted cuts from Dean while doing so was hard, and the reason he had only worn button ups the next few days. By wearing button ups, he didn't need to take his entire shirt off, when getting his ribs and stomach checked. He wouldn't have to reveal his arms. The break of his ribs had luckily been a clean break and, even though he knew that it would take ages, seemed to heal quickly.

After the rib mending, which was basically rest and strong painkillers, Sam could actually move one leg ahead of the other now. Dean wondered why he hadn't taken any pills before.

_Because I don't deserve them,_ Sam thought bitterly.

**A/N: I hoped you liked the chapter as much as I had fun writing it. :)**

**Should I include Jessica more in future chapters?**


	4. Chapter 4

_The fluorescent bathroom light reflected on the cold, sharp metal. It was so tempting. Before he had a second chance to think about it, the blade ripped into his pale, bruised skin. His eyes were clouded by fresh tears as he vaguely saw the scarlet liquid ooze out of his wrist and drip onto the dirty motel bathroom floor. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling before passing the blade another time across his trembling wrist. _

_It was an odd feeling. It was as though a completely other person had done it. He curled himself into a ball of shame. How was he supposed to cover the cuts from everyone? Punishing himself for his stupidity, he drew the blade once more across the other cuts. _

_He came out the bathroom with seven ugly red scars, some lined neatly and some scattered diagonally, up his left arm. _

_He felt like a completely different person, although he was still the same weak, insignificant, depressed fourteen year-old kid. _

**Four days before**

Sam opened his eyes to slits and glanced at the clock: 8:14.

"Shit, I'm late!" He exclaimed rolling out of bed and practically threw his jeans on.

_Why hadn't the alarm rung? _

"Sam?" Dean rasped from the bed next to him as he slowly sat up. Sam was dazed and still not completely awake. He was standing in the middle of the room looking for his shirt.

"Yeah," he answered with a stiff yawn.

"Sam!" Dean cried, making Sam confused. That's when he realized that he was standing topless right in front of Dean. Dean's eyes were wide with fear, confusion and anxiousness, as his eyes scanned his little brother's scarred body. Sam hated to see him that way. It made a knot in his stomach guilt ran through him. He didn't know what to say, so he grabbed his hoodie awkwardly and quickly pulled it over his bed hair. Dean jumped out of the bed and towards Sam. Sam hated how he took every step with heed.

"I'm late," Sam said, grabbing his bag on the way out of the door.

"Sam." Dean said brokenly, having nothing more to add. He was downright horrified.

The door slammed shut.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam was late, as predicted.

"Samuel Winchester," the math teacher said with, yet again, a condescending voice. "This is high school level math, if you can't even tell the time I suggest you go back several years." The class snickered. Sam looked at them when his eyes met Jessica's. She rolled them indicating her hate for the snooty teacher. Sam sat in the back of the class. The whole lesson he spent pissing off the teacher for spacing out, but he couldn't help it. He still didn't know how to explain his scars to Dean. How and what was he supposed to tell him? If he told him the truth, his father wouldn't hesitate for a second before killing him. He tugged his hoodie sleeve further over his hand.

**Six days before**

_Mydadtriedokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, _mydadtriedtokillme, _mydadtriedtokillme, _mydadtriedtokillme___..._

The perpetual words kept ringing in his head, driving him nuts.

**Four days before**

Sam had just arrived home and slumped down on the bed with a sigh. He picked up the remote and flicked through the channel. Dean came out from the shower five minutes later.

Dean's voice was soft and cautions.

"Sam," he said sitting on the bed next to him. His hair was still damp and Sam could see the wet spots on his clothes. Dean had obviously hurried out of the shower, not bothering to dry himself properly, when he heard Sam came home.

Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed at his brother for acting like a therapist. He knew that what he had done to himself wasn't good - _at all_ - but it relieved his other pains, physically and mentally.

He turned the volume of the television up, indicating that his brother should drop the conversation. As expected, he didn't.

Dean reached for the remote and turned it off.

"Sam," he repeated. Sam stared at his brother's chest, feeling guilty as ever. This wasn't supposed to happen, Dean wasn't supposed to find out _ever_. He took a deep breath, trying to stop the tears from spilling.

"How… How long?" Dean asked at last. Dead silence. Sam reluctantly met Dean's eyes and saw his brother's eyes welling up in tears. A knot in the younger boy's stomach formed itself. If he had made his brother - the strongest, nicest person he knew, cry, he would never forgive himself.

"A while," Sam croaked at last.

A tear rolled down Dean's cheek that he didn't even bother wiping off.

_I'm never going to forgive myself for letting this happen, _Dean thought.

"Why? Sammy… Why?" Sam had never heard his brother sound this broken. He couldn't answer. His throat was as dry as ever. He glanced at the familiar, dull motel wall trying to blink away the tears. He bit his lip.

"Tell me, please," Dean cried, his voice urgent and pleading. Sam covered his face in his hands.

_Why was this happening? _

"Is it the assholes from school?" Sam shook his head.

"Does it have to do with school?" Another shake. His scars started prickling beneath his hoodie.

"Is it… hunting?"

"No."

"Is it dad? Is it… me?" Sam's mind went blank. He jerked his head up towards his brother.

_Not Dean, never Dean._

"No, Dean," Sam said, tears falling heavily. "No, how could you think that?" His voice was equally broken.

Dean jerked his head to the side facing the window. The sudden movement surprised Sam. Dean let out a humourless huff.

"How could _I_ think that?" He said a little too loud. "Sam, how could _you_ think that low of yourself to the extent of…" His voice trailed off. Tears were flowing uncontrollably down his cheeks. Sam stood up. He walked grabbed his jacket, not able to be in the overwhelmed room anymore. He opened the door, letting the chilly air fill the room.

"Sam," Dean croaked one last time before the door closed shut. How he missed his father at that moment. He clung on to the hope, that he would return soon and fix this shitty mess. He had called him earlier today, but with no luck. He would try again later.

**Eight days before**

Was Sam hallucinating or was Jessica actually smiling to him?

Sam sat alone at the lunch table, like the loser he was. He swallowed his food suspiciously before returning a smile.

"Hey," Sam heard Louis whisper from behind him. He turned around.

"Look, you're really nice Sam, but honestly, being together with you, I really don't think it's good for my image. No offence man."

"What image?" Sam blurted out, before he could stop himself. He didn't care though. He returned back to his sandwich. He looked in Jessica's direction again, but she was talking together with her friends.

_She wasn't smiling at you, who would smile at a freak?_

**Ten days before**

"There's a hunt in a town nearby, I'm going with Bobby and Rufus. I'll be home in a couple of days." John stated, his duffel already packed.

"What?" Dean asked. "I'm coming with you." He said, standing up.

John shook his head.

"Dean, you have a concussion-"

"_Had_," Dean corrected, "and it was very mild." John gave a short laugh, which made shivers run down Sam's spine.

"Dean, I know you're eager to get out the house-"

"Damn straight I am."

Sam wondered what would happen if he talked and interrupted to John like that. Nothing good probably.

"-but you still need to rest and take care of Sam. Make sure he doesn't do anything strenuous. I have full confidence in you," he looked behind Dean at his younger son, "-both of you," he said, sounding caring. How Sam _loathed_ the guy. Every now and then, John would pull something like that in front of Dean, and try to act as though he gave a fuck about his second son, so that his best son wouldn't suspect that anything was wrong.

And it worked. Every. Fucking. Time.

Sam also knew the real reason why he had to leave; John couldn't unleash fits and blows in front of the wonderful son, and he knew that Sam would be at the motel for couple days under Dean's care.

"_Fuck you, John,"_ Sam nearly spat, but was able to hold his tongue with difficulty.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

As their father had told them, John came home just two days later - a Thursday night (eight days before). He barged in loudly, just as Sam rested his weary head on his pillow. He looked up at his father, startled at what he saw. His father was smiling at him. Sam was scared to the core.

_Dean, where are you?_ He thought glancing around the room, remembering that he had gone out half an hour ago.

John went over to Sam's bed. Sam squirmed over to the corner. John's laughed boomed throughout the room.

"No need to be frightened, Sammy," he said with a mocking smiling. He grabbed his younger son's leg, hard. He grabbed the other equally forcefully and pushed it down towards the mattress. Having both legs pinned to the bed, Sam couldn't move from his father's strong grip. He wondered how the bruises would look after. He had no time left to wonder when John face was so close to him that he could smell the usual stench of alcohol. He hoped that John's liver would fail - or that his own would. Then, he wouldn't be around to be a pathetic pain in the ass.

"Sam, good news. There's a hunt tomorrow, a quick and easy salt and burn." He snickered. Sam felt nauseous.

Both hunters heard the recognizable sound of the Impala park in front of the motel.

_Dean, come on, hurry. Barge in when you still have time,_ Sam hoped unrealistically. His father escalated from him and Sam dragged the duvet up to his chin, and over his head. Slumber overtook his frail body and mind promptly.

**A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing, favouriting and so on. It makes my day! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Three days before**

Sam heard footsteps behind him and began to become paranoid.

_What did I do wrong this time?_ He thought. He walked faster, although it was hard due to his ribs. It was only when a familiar and soft voice spoke up, that he stopped.

"Hey Sam, wait up!" Sam turned to face Jess.

"How the pain?" Jessica asked with a curious and caring voice. Sam's heart starting pounding.

_Does everybody know about my scars? Have people found out about my father?_ That's when he remembered the three guys who beat him up thoroughly, which was the pain she was referring to, although that pain was nothing compared to the rest. He wished he could just collapse and curl up on the ground.

"Better," he answered, seeing no point in lying.

"Must have been pretty bad if you stayed home for two days."

_She noticed?_

"Hurt my ribs pretty badly," Sam said biting his lip. They were walking slowly.

"Do you live nearby?" Jessica asked, keeping the conversation casual.

"It's a twenty minute walk if I walk in my normal pace," Sam replied. "You?" That's when Jess blushed. Sam had never seen anything as beautiful.

"Around here. I'm detouring."

"Why?"

"I haven't really spoken to you yet, and you seem like a decent guy," Jessica said. Sam's heart fluttered. No one had ever called him that before. _Decent_.

"So… Do you have a favourite song?" Jess asked. Sam remembered when he was thirteen and Dean and him were sitting in a diner while their dad was on a hunt.

_Sam's body was still aching from two nights before, when Dean had gone out and felt him alone with a monster named John. That's when the most beautiful song he'd ever heard came on the jukebox. Normally, he would just listen to whatever Dean or his dad played in the car, which he didn't mind, but this was so different._

"Asleep by The Smiths," Sam responded, this time it was him who blushed. Jess started humming the slow tune.

"Gosh, I love that song. I just learned how to play it on the piano."

"You play the piano?" Sam asked. He had never met anyone who knew how to play an instrument before.

"Yes, would you like to hear it someday?" She was smiling as always. Sam smiled back.

"That would be great," Sam answered, thinking about when he had time. They smiled at each other for a while, which, unexpectedly, wasn't awkward.

It was different talking to her compared to other people, compared to Dean. It was as though she actually cared about how Sam was. Sam knew that Dean did too, but he was always overprotective. Most of their conversations were just throwing lame insults at each other, plain conversation, sarcastic comments, or Dean being a mother hen.

Sam thought about how Jess and him never had picked up a conversation before, even though they went in the same class. Jess had moved to this town last summer holiday, which was two weeks before she started high school. Sam had lived in different cheap motel rooms around town, before starting school.

They kept on talking.

Sam forgot about his scars while talking to her.

A few blocks later they started laughing at jokes. It hurt Sam, physically, to laugh, but it was more than worth it.

Two blocks before the motel, Jessica had to turn right. Sam was happy about that, because he didn't want her to know that he lived in a cramped motel room. But then again, he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to go home either. As usual, he started imagining what would happen if he left, but he couldn't do that to Dean.

They waved goodbye.

**Nine days before**

Wednesday. English class.

"The essay I have assigned to you will seem very mundane," the middle aged teacher, Mr. Johnson, mumbled with a pen in his mouth. "It may seem fairly easy, but trust me, it's not. You have to search for your true selves and be brutally honest."

_Get get to the point,_ Sam, along with the rest of the class, thought annoyed.

"You have to write about your family."

A loud groan was heard throughout the class from those who could understand his mumbling.

_Great,_ Sam thought sarcastically.

**A week before**

Dean started the engine and a loud riff from AC/DC came blaring throughout the car. He had to replace the music player in order to fix it, because it was simply that bashed in and fucked up. He backed out of the parking spot wondering what had happened to it. He knew that his father could get angry sometimes, but not to the point of actually hitting something.

**Sixteen days before**

Dean tapped his pocket where his wallet was, having just won a bunch of money. He was returning to the motel by foot, as his father and Sam were out training and had brought the car with them.

Dean was walking into the motel room, when he heard the Impala park outside. He watched as his brother climbed out of the car. Dean noticed how Sam's elbow bled and how he seemed to prefer his right side. John strolled up beside Dean, asking if he was ready to grab some supper.

"Dad, did you… Try to go easy on him." Dean said in a low voice so that Sam wouldn't hear. He looked at Sam and saw how he tried to hide his pain, but with little success.

"S'not my fault if he slips, how dare you think I contributed to that?" John grumbled. Dean's tense face loosened up a little.

_This is why I shouldn't jump to conclusions,_ he thought.

"Sorry sir, I shouldn't have assumed," Dean said looking down at his shoes. His father patted his back.

"It's alright son. Are you ready to go as soon as Sam has showered?"

Dean nodded.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

"M' not hungry." Sam said softly, wrinkling his nose at how his father opened his mouth and bit the gooey burger, letting the ketchup drip. It felt nauseating to look at.

Dean knew something was wrong with Sam.

Sam knew he should say something to Dean, but was positive that he wouldn't believe him.

Dean knew that he should keep his mouth shut before making assumptions.

Sam knew that his back hurt because of his father's belt.

Dean knew that Sam was being secretive. He wasn't sure about what though.

No thoughts were exchanged.

**Eight days before**

John and Dean were as ready as they could be for the hunt. Even though it was a quick, and supposedly easy 'salt and burn', Dean was could hardly wait.

Sam looked at them. Things had changed quite drastically during the last couple of days. For instant, his father hadn't laid a finger on him, nor did he say anything to hurt him. He'd also been talking to him like he talked to Dean and honestly, Sam couldn't more terrified.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

The Impala stopped in front of a lake. There was a house so close to the lake, that if you opened the bedroom window, one could see nothing but water.

The ride to this location had been surprisingly comfortable. Even though he knew the peril of his father acting this way, he couldn't help but feeling calm. Jessica had gone the detour again today.

"_So, what do you like to do?" Jessica asked, picking up conversation._

"_Stuff," Sam replied shrugging. Jess smiled. "I read a lot," he told her. That caught her attention._

"_Oh, that's cool! What do you like to read?"_

_ And so the conversation went on, discussing books and finding out, that they had a lot of things in common. _

_Before they parted, Jessica took a deep breath. _

_"Sam, I'm sorry we haven't talked before. It's just school and-"_

_"Believe me, I know." Sam said assuringly. Jessica's gentle smile melted him._

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam stood with the salt when the cold hit him - and it wasn't the cold November weather. He turned around on the spot, gazing into the nothingness of the ghost's eyes. The soaked ghost pushed Sam into a wall forcefully. Sam gasped out of pain and slid to the floor. That's when he saw his father rushing towards them with a gun. John lifted the gun, but not towards the ghost's direction. Towards Sam.

Sam couldn't move, but the dripping ghost could. He flung John's gun far away from the father's reach, wanting to finish Sam himself.

"DAD? SAM?" Dean voice rang through the house, but with no response. He ran into the living room. His brother was on the floor as the ghost hovered over him. Sam's eyes were filled with fear. He watched as his dad reached for his gun right when Dean came in.

_What happened? How did the ghost manage to the gun away from _Dad_?" _Dean thought.

He lifted his own gun and aimed it towards the ghost. It was gone after one simple shot. He took the salt and burned the corpse.

**A/N: Hope you liked the chapter!**

**I would have posted it yesterday, but a party came up.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Three days before**

"Dad!" Dean cried into the phone, when John picked up.

"Calm down, Dean. Tell me what happened." John said, trying to keep his worry down. He knew that Dean would only call if something was very wrong, just like they had agreed. How he loved his eldest son, the son who always followed his orders.

"Dad, something's wrong with Sam." Dean voice was near breaking point. It hurt John to hear his son like this.

"What do you mean?" John asked with a puzzled voice. Had that bastard son of his told Dean what John had done to him - what he deserved?

"I… Dad he's hurting. Like, he's hurting himself."

_Useless shit, can't even cover up in front of Dean. Attention whore._

"I'm coming home soon, son. Just hold on."

**Six days before**

Sam always liked doing his homework in advanced. The english essay was for next Thursday, and today was Saturday.

Sam lay the pen on the paper and began to scratch the ink onto the blank sheet of paper.

Sam knew that he whole essay was going to be a lie, which made it incredibly hard. Especially when he could only think of one thing.

_Mydadtriedokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme, mydadtriedtokillme..._

The perpetual words kept ringing in his head, driving him nuts.

**Friday - neither before nor after**

Sam woke up. For once his body didn't ache, with the exception of the dull rib-pain in his side. His father had immediately left after the last hunt, eight days ago.

Sam rose from his bed, making sure not to wake Dean, and got ready for school. For once, his spirits were high; his father wasn't there and Jessica would play "The Smiths - Asleep" for him, on the piano.

**SPN-SPN-SPN**

School was the same as usual; idiots and more idiots. Louis hadn't spoken to Sam since the day he had told Sam, that he didn't want to be friends anymore. Sam wondered if they actually ever were friends. They usually just ate lunch together because they had no one else to speak to. Their conversations were too polite to be entertaining. They didn't really have much to talk about as they had nothing in common, other than being wallflowers.

**SPN-SPN-SPN**

"So, do you have plans after high school?" Jessica asked. They weren't walking the detour today. Instead, they were going home to Jess.

"Not really," Sam lied. He knew what he was suppose to do afterwards, which was only if he would survive living with his father, and it wasn't school related. The only reason he came to school was to keep his mind off all the shit going on in his life.

"Neither do I. I thinks it's stupid, I mean the education system. Like how are we suppose to choose what we are suppose to do with the rest of our lives, when we're still teenagers?" Sam nodded in agreement, even though he had never given it much thought. His future was already planned.

They turned left down a road. Sam stopped.

"Do you live here?" He asked impressed, looking down the street with, what seemed to Jess, average sized houses. Jessica nodded wondering where Sam lived if he found this impressive.

They walked towards the red brick house.

The door was a deep forest green and the first room, other than the tiny entrance, was the living room. At the end of the room there was a big window with a piano in front.

They sat by the piano and Jessica started playing softly. She told him that her parents were out until eight and that her siblings were all in college. They talked and laughed, Sam always tucking his shirt down whenever she moved closer to him, until six o'clock. Sam knew that he would get in trouble if his dad was home, but luckily he wasn't.

Five minutes later, Sam decided that it was a good time to leave.

"See you Monday," Jessica said, leading Sam down the front steps of the house.

"Okay," was all Sam could say. They smiled at each other. Sam was about to turn and leave when Jessica pulled him into a tight hug. Sam's arms found her waist. She buried her head into his shoulder. She smelled as wonderful as she was. Sam closed his eyes. It was so much different than hugging his brother.

"It's a shame you have to leave," she said, releasing her grip a little and staring into Sam's eyes. Since it was November and six o'clock, it was hard to see because it was so dark out, but Jessica's smile made everything dark and unpleasant find the bright side. The silver lining.

Jess leaned in.

It was less wet than Sam expected.

Jess's lips were soft and tender.

It was less awkward than Sam imagined.

Jess's hand slowly moved up his back and her fingers ran through his hair.

Sam held her waist closer.

Their tongues touched.

**SPN-SPN-SPN**

Sam walked home. Even though he was alone and it was pitch black, he felt happier than ever.

Sam had never really thought about kissing someone before, he had too much other shit on his mind. The only time he'd ever thought about it, was when they watched a movie in class, and the actors kissed, and Sam wondered what they did with their teeth.

Sam felt genuinely happy, hell he felt ecstatic; he had his first kiss with a perfect girl and his dad wasn't home. He gave a skip of joy. Everything seemed to be alright and have meaning for once.

That was until he stepped foot in the ransacked motel room.

**SPN-SPN-SPN**

Furniture torn from the walls, duffles, books and weapons, scattered all over the floor. The lights were flickering grimly. Sam's breath caught in his throat.

"Dean?" He queried quietly.

"Dean's not here at the moment," a gruff familiar voice, that made Sam's blood curl, came from the bathroom. Sam froze. He turned for the door when a strong arm found his throat from behind. Sam struggled out of the strong grip, but with no success. He was flung onto the floor and stared into his father's hard eyes.

Imustn'tcry, Imustn'tcry, Imusn'tcry, Imustn'tcry, Imustn'tcry, Imustn'tcry, Imustn'tcry…

John kicked his son's ribs.

Too late, Sam thought as a tear trickled down his temple.

"Why?" Sam asked quietly.

"Why what? Maybe you shouldn't have been home so fucking late when I've been looking for you!" He gestured towards the motel room, where Sam's eyes rested on the razor he'd been using, on the floor. John continued. "Maybe you shouldn't have made Dean worry about you, because you can't even hide your disgraceful, disgusting body! Maybe you shouldn't have killed you mother! Maybe you should have been a better son!"

Sam received a blow to the head.

_No way I can cover that one up._ He thought, through the pain.

"Or do you mean why I aimed a gun at you?" John continued, unbuckling his belt. Sam could barely hear him anymore, everything was swimming. He refused to slip into unconsciousness, even though that was what his body desired.

"I thought I'd do Dean a favour. He was so worried about the bastard you are, so I thought I'd take his worry away, completely." John gripped Sam's shirt tightly, pulled him up from the floor, and pushed him into a wall. He was almost as close as Jessica and him were, just half an hour ago. Sam's eyes started drooping.

"SAM! LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" Sam's jerk back into awareness, making him nearly lose his balance. "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU WALK OUT LIKE THAT?!"

"Dad, I - not -"

John pushed him up the wall, making Sam's toes barely touch the ground.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TALK BACK TO ME!" John shouted, shoving Sam into the door, his hip smashing into the doorknob. His father's belt lashed out.

In that moment Sam thought of the most random thing. He thought of his English assignment. Mr. Johnson would be reading it right now.

Another fist to his stomach.

-s-

_Apart from the insane amount of road trips that we go on, we are not that different from other families._

-s-

More roaring from John.

-s-

_There's also the fact that we are not a nuclear family. Instead we're my father, my brother and I._

-s-

Sam saw as blood fell to the floor from what he guessed was his lip. He couldn't tell. Everything hurt like hell.

-s-

_My mum died when in a fire, in my nursery, when I was six months old._

-s-

"You can't even die right! A monster, just like you, saved you from me! A bloody monster!"

-s-

_I don't remember her. I've only seen pictures._

-s-

Sam, as usual, was too afraid and broken, to shout. He was so utterly broken.

-s-

_My father is a mechanic._

-s-

John was so overtaken by rage that he didn't hear the car park outside. He pulled Sam to his feet and thrust him back into the doorknob.

"FIGHT BACK, COWARD!" John yelled. His voice stretched far. As far as the parking lot.

Dean froze, to afraid to gasp or to move. He was more terrified and horrified about what on earth was going going on, than he'd ever been in his entire life, which was really saying something. He came rushing towards the source of the yelling.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" John continued.

Dean foolishly hoped for the best.

Sam stood up swaying. He barely had energy to move his arms. He opened his mouth to say something. A huge fist was aimed towards his head.

The door opened.

Sam fell unconscious right into Dean's arms, as the older brother entered the room.

Dean's terrified stare met John's.

"Christo," he whispered.

Nothing happened.

**A/N: Please review, favourite or whatever floats your boat. :)**

**Thank you _so_ much if you've already done that!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Friday**

"Dean, please listen, son." John's voice was pleading, begging, pathetic.

Dean was dumbfounded. Completely stumped. What was he supposed to do? He looked at Sam.

"Nonononononononononono…" He kept on muttering under his breath while carrying Sam into the backseat of the Impala.

"Sammy," he whispered, stroking his brother's hair. Tears splashed down onto his brother's pale, bloody face. That's when he heard John's slow footsteps behind him.

"Dean, we can talk about this," John said, crying. Actually crying.

_This is fucking unbelievable,_ Dean thought.

His father was standing a meter from the doorframe, five meters away from Dean. Dean couldn't even look at the man without turning his knuckles white.

"TALK ABOUT WHAT?!" Dean yelled back.

"Please, don't leave. I'm sorry."

"I'm -" Dean hit the car in frustration so hard that he caused it to dent, but he didn't care. All he cared about was his broken brother.

Dean was more than livid at his father. He wasn't a father anymore, he was a monster. Dean stormed up to him. Spit came flying out of his mouth as he yelled outraged words.

"SORRY?" Dean shoved him back into the motel room. "YOU'RE FUCKING SORRY? OH YEAH, YOU'RE _DEFINITELY _FORGIVEN NOW! FOR HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HITTING SAMMY? EVER SINCE I LEFT TWO HOURS AGO?!" Dean stopped. Tears were flowing freely and at a rapid pace. He lowered his voice into a broken tone. "John, how long have you been hitting Sam?"

John didn't answer.

Dean's heart dropped. He ran up his father, his arms extended in front of him ready to wrap his hands around the bastard's throat. He pressed him up against a wall, making sure he couldn't breathe. As he held his father's throat he started to recall things.

'"_SAM! For fuck's sake! If you don't start paying attention you're going to get Dean and I killed!"'_

Dean released his grip a little when he threw the first couple punches, both aimed at the nose. John winced as his broken nose bled. He didn't fight back. He couldn't harm Dean.

'_"S'not my fault if he slips, how dare you think I contributed to that?" John grumbled.'_

Another fist, this time to the stomach with all his strength and adrenaline, making John's knees buckle.

'"_Fine." Sam said.'_

The tears were uncontrollable. He tightened his fist harder than ever and aimed for the groin.

John hurdled to the floor with a loud thump.

Dean continued kicking and punching him all over. He watched as his father's jaw broke. John whimpered all the way through the beating as he lay curled up like an infant, before slipping into unconsciousness. Dean spat on him before turning towards his younger brother. He jumped into the car leaving the unconscious mess, who used to be his father, behind him.

**One day before **

"Hey Sammy, I'm going out," Dean said, grabbing his coat. Sam nodded and turned on the television, but not before a quick, "it's Sam." Dean's grin couldn't become bigger.

_Has Sam gone back to his normal self? _Dean thought. He had been so worried about going out, even if it was only for half an hour. He was terrified Sam would do something stupid, like _really_ stupid. He had hid the razors for safety's sake.

Ten minutes later Sam was still staring at the television screen. He wasn't watching it though, his thoughts had drifted away. He automatically slid his hand down in his pocket and held the sharp steel. He was a bit startled with himself when he found out that he was holding it. To his own surprise, he grasped it tighter. A drop of blood fell from his finger. It felt weird holding it. It felt safe, like this was his way out. It was always when he was alone, that dark thoughts clouded his mind. He kept on thinking about what his dad would do when he got home. Would he try to kill him again? What would the suspended assholes who beat up Sam do, when they got back?

Sam winced at his aching ribs. If only there was a way to get rid of the pain. Maybe shift it?

The blade bit gingerly into his sweaty palm.

What would Dean do if he found out that he was still hurting himself, that he couldn't fight his inner demons? Would he make Dean mad again? Would he make Dean, his tough big brother, _cry_ again? What if Jessica found out about all this shit? Would she even speak to him again, let alone look at him? What would happen... _  
><em>

_I made Dean cry, I killed mum, I made dad mad, I'm weak, an easy target, I don't have a future, not really. I'm stuck here as a disappointment and I'm never -_

Sam's pants were already drawn down to his knees and his blade placed steadily over his hip. Thirteen minutes till Dean would come home. Maybe longer if he thought Sam was safe, alone in the motel room.

_I'm such a coward. _

The blade pierced and glided.

**One day after**

1:38 am.

"Oh thank god," Dean said as he watched Sam's eyelids flutter. Sam opened one of them, the one he could, as the other was still swollen shut.

"What 'ime s'it?" Sam asked sheepishly. His split lip started bleeding again. Dean held a tissue to stop the bleeding, while being pleased to see, that the ice pack he had put there worked, because his lips was much less swollen compared to the day before. Sam tried to sit up but Dean lightly pushed him down again. Sam didn't resist. He was too tired, hurt, and didn't see a point in doing so.

"What happened?" Sam said, becoming more alert when he noticed his bleeding lip. He glanced down his body and saw the crimson stains on his clothes. Soon, he noticed how much his head and body throbbed with pain. He tasted blood again.

"You don't remember?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_, Dean thought. assuming the worst.

"Would I ask if I did?" Sam responded, raising a hand to his temple. He rubbed it lightly when a flash of memories appeared before his eyes. Slowly, last nights events started to come back to him.

"Nonononono..." Sam said under his breath. Dean noticed though, but didn't say anything. His brother was going through enough already without having lie to Dean, saying that he was okay. He obviously wasn't. Who would be?

"Tell me if you have difficulty breathing or something feels straight up wrong, 'kay?" Dean asked, snapping his brother out of the spiral of horrible memories. When Sam didn't respond, which he expected since Sam was still quite light headed and out of it, he continued talking. "It's a miracle that you don't have any concussion. Your breathing and pulse seemed fine, when I checked a few hours ago."

_And every five minutes after that_, Dean didn't say aloud. Maybe he should of, so that Sam knew how much he was loved.

"If it goes seriously wrong - I know you hate it and trust me, I do too - we have to take you to a hospital," Dean said gravely.

Sam's head snapped up at that, causing it to hurt even more. Dean saw his wince and handed him a bottle of painkillers. Sam swallowed a couple of the pills gratefully, before quickly falling asleep.

"Sleep tight, we've still got half way across the country till we reach Bobby's." Dean said, stepping a harder on the accelerator.

_Our lives are so fucked up._

**A/N: I have an awful lot of things to do, but I'll post the next chapter on Sunday at the latest. Hopefully earlier. **

**Thanks for the amazing reviews guys! They've really been great. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Twenty-five days before**

"Useless coward!" John boomed. Sam didn't cry. He received another slap. Sam hated most of all when his dad hit him on the face, because bruising on his face was always hard to explain to Dean, and everyone else, but only Dean mattered. This was why John only saved hits to the face, never too hard though, for when Sam_ seriously_ fucked up. Too bad Sam was such a fuck-up to start with. Sam continued to hold his tears back. He knew better than to cry. It was only when John unbuckled his belt, that Sam let a tear slip.

"Please, don't," Sam said, staring pleadingly into his father's eyes. He was so tired. So fucking tired.

**One day after**

Eight hours later, Sam woke up in a quiet, still car.

His entire body hurt. He tried lifting an arm, but winced at the movement.

_Has Dean left me alone? _Sam panicked, looking at the car's interior. He tried sitting up, only to catch a glimpse of an empty road. There was no sign of his brother. Sam tried to find a comfortable position when he heard the car door open. He snapped his head around at the noise. Dean fell into the front seat. He handed Sam a bag of take-out.

"Eat," he commanded. Sam wasn't hungry, but took the bag as it would please Dean.

They drove off again, not saying anymore words to each other. Sam picked at his food and didn't see Dean's concerned and tired face.

_Have I made Dean angry? _He thought, his paranoia acting up. He didn't know that Dean's silence was because had no clue how to act towards Sam, or how to react to this mess, which was their life.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

It was nightfall when Dean pulled the car over at the side of a road with no traffic. Sam wondered what they were supposed to do here. So far, they had only stopped for bathroom breaks and food.

"Sammy," Dean said. Sam hated when he used his shattered voice. It made him feel guilty, but why shouldn't he be? He had made his brother cry, he made him angry by not telling him about his relationship with their dad, he made his brother feel guilty by not figuring it out… What good did he do? What good had he ever done?

"Did-" Dead cleared his throat. The silence of the car was nerve-wracking. Sam wanted to get the hell out before becoming too overwhelmed. He turned his head towards his brother, indicating that he should finish his sentence. His brother stared out of the front window with glassy eyes. Sam brought his knees up to his chest. Dean managed to finish the sentence, although not completely.

"Did dad do anything other than…" Dean continued to stare out the window, biting his bottom lip, holding back tears. That's when Sam understood what he asked about.

"No, he never _touched_ me," Sam said and watched as Dean's shoulders loosened a little. They were still tense though and his body language was distant. Sam could tell that he was absolutely furious with his father, and he thought that Dean was pissed at him, for not telling him earlier. Should he tell him what else John did or would that just cause his brother even more pain? But then if he didn't, he would become secretive again...

Dean let out a sigh, interrupting Sam's troubled thoughts.

"Sammy… Why didn't you tell me?" He said barely audibly. Tears were slowly leaking down his thick eyelashes, thus reminding Sam of their painful conversation about his self-inflicted scars, five days ago.

"He threatened to kill me," Sam said emotionless. How was he supposed to react to this?

"Did he ever… Did he ever…"

"Try?" Sam finished. Dean nodded grievously. Sam took a breath, his own voice had become shaky. "Last hunt."

_I AM SO FUCKING STUPID! _Dean roared inside his head while punching the car with all his strength. Sam flinched violently, his face turning sheet white. Dean threw his red, puffy face into his hands.

_I knew something was up all along. Especially last hunt. John could have shot the ghost, but wanted to kill my baby brother... Oh god, oh god, oh god…_

Dean lifted his head suddenly, and started staring out the window again. More heavy tears fell down Dean's face one by one, until they came pouring. Sam just sat there staring at him. He couldn't stand seeing Dean like this, exposing himself like this. He could hardly breathe. Tears pricked his own eyes, tears he had held back for too long.

"How long?" Dean croaked, after another long distressing wait. He looked down at his hands resting in his lap. They were twitching, craving to punch something, hard, until it broke and would feel as shattered and useless as he did at that moment.

Dean turned to face Sam, waiting for an answer.

_How long had it been?_

Sam stared at his brother, not focusing on anything particular. Not focusing, not saying anything, not doing anything. Dean wondered if he even was thinking anything, if he even was _there_.

"Sam?" Dean asked urgently. He wanted to shake his brother back to reality, but didn't want to touch him since he seemed very flinchy. Dean sighed inwardly with relief when he saw Sam take deep breath, close his eyes, and opening them again to a focused gaze.

"Too long." Silence. "But, it wasn't his fault," he said calmly. It was just before Dean either had a panic attack or started tearing the car apart with his bare hands.

_What the fuck has John done to this kid to make him think that? He has beaten the shit out of him yesterday evening and who knows how many before that?_

"Who's fault was it then?" He asked, maybe a bit too loudly. He regretted his tone immediately after, but damn it! He wanted answers. Sam didn't seem to notice the volume of his voice though. Thinking about it a second time, maybe Dean didn't want an answer. He just wanted to keep his brother safe from that monster. Who would have know that the worst monster they ever would encounter, had been by their side this whole fucking time?

Sam didn't move. Just sat there.

"I should have been a better son," he uttered at last, his body looked limp as he hung forward, mouth open.

Dean would have fainted at that moment if he wanted to. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't say anything, he then realized. His throat was too dry.

_I need to get this kid some help, _Dean thought as he stepped on the accelerator and onto the road again. They still had a long way to go.

**A/N: ****Thanks for reading! :) **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm so so sorry, but this had to happen.**

**Two days after**

Dean pulled up at the motel. In two day's time they would reach Bobby's. What could happen in two days?

Sam was lying in the backseat. He had recently woken and fought to stay awake since he didn't want to go back to his dreams. Dean had taken the liberty of him falling asleep to change his clothes and clean his wounds. A smile flickered across Dean's face when he remembered the look on Sam's face when he woke up and realized, that his brother had stripped him, with the exception of his underwear, and changed his clothes. His smile faded quickly as he remembered the rest of the memory.

_"Dean, what the hell?" Sam asked as he looked down himself and found out that his clothes had changed. "Did you change my clothes?" Dean grinned._

_"Did you want me to leave you there looking like bloody mess?" After Dean said that, his face darkened._

_"I wanted you to wake me up so I could do it myself…" Sam slurred at the end, the pain medication taking over again._

_"You were out stone cold," Dean said remembering how he had held his brother's limp body in his arms. He had held him many times when he was a baby, heck even a kid, or that time five years ago when he sprained his ankle. This was so much different. The body looked unrecognizable. It was like the incident six days ago, but way worse. _

_Dean held his own unconscious, beaten up, brother's frail body in his arms. He had taken his shirt off, only to want to inwardly scream at what he saw. The scars, the bruises, the swollen areas, his broken ribs… He applied wet cloths and washed the dry blood off, gently, only to reveal even more scars and bruises. He stitched the largest wounds the best he could in the tight area. Dean knew it was incredibly stupid to do that in a car, but there was no other option. He had to get as far away from the bastard before finding a motel, and he didn't want Sam to bleed out. The fact that they were in the middle of nowhere and h__e had no idea where the next motel was, was another reason he stitched in brother in such a cramped place._

_Dean swiftly, yet carefully, put a black t-shirt on him, _grateful that he had the sense of picking up their duffels after beating up John._ He then addressed Sam's legs, hoping to find something, anything, better than what Sam had beneath his shirt. He wasn't surprised though when he found the exact same thing, minus broken bones. He cared for the wounds and put sweatpants on him. He looked sadly at his Sammy. His nose was broken, but like his ribs, it was a clean break. The rest of Sam's face was bruised, cut and swollen, but not to the extent of stitches._

"Hey Sammy," Dean said in a sombre tone, having not completely snapped out of the memory when Sam woke.

"Hi." Sam said groggily. He looked better than the last time he woke up and looked like he was spiking a fever, but he still had glassy eyes and was unsettling pale.

It was getting late and they had to find a motel. Dean assumed that they were far enough away from John, and couldn't stand the idea of letting his injured brother sleep in the car again. Just ten minutes later, Dean spotted a flashing motel sign. He stopped the car.

"Going to get a room, just stay here," Dean said, forcing a smile. He hated seeing his brother like this.

"'kay."

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam was stirring in his sleep. Dean sat on the bed next to him. He watched, thinking it was a bit creepy but very calming, his brother sleep. He'd been sleeping for three hours now. It was a bit past 10pm. Suddenly, his stomach grumbled. He tried to remember when he had finished the last burger. It was six hours ago. He looked back at Sam who was still asleep. Sam definitely needed food more than him if he was going to swallow all those pills. He looked around the dimly lit room before grabbing the keys, his jacket, and his wallet. He wrote a note and double checked that Sam was completely asleep.

He walked out the door without noticing the wind blow into the room and his note fall beneath Sam's bed.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

_"Hey Sam," Jess said smiling. Sam smiled back._

_"Hi buddy," he heard another familiar voice saying. He turned his head towards the source, when he saw his father's grinning facial expression. Sam's heart stopped._

_'What are they doing together? Are they - are they holding hands?'_

Sam woke abruptly out of his dream fifteen minutes later.

The lights were too bright even though they were barely lit.

He felt dizzy.

He felt nauseous.

_Where is Dean? How long has he been gone?_

_He's probably gone out. Can't blame him, why would he always watch over and be worried about his annoying little brother?_ Sam scratched his itching arm. He felt the scabs of the cuts and traced them with his finger. The memory about the douches from the school digging their fingers in them, made him recoil. He remembered how the blood streamed out, and the pain and disgust.

Sam pushed himself up with great effort, wincing as he did so. He shut his eyes tightly at the painful wreck which was his body. He took the pill bottle beside the bed. There were so many.

_Where is Dean?_

_Oh my god, John is going to kill me._

_Everything hurts so bad._

_Jess. I left Jessica behind._

_I never stood up to the bullies - to anybody._

_It hurts so fucking badly._

_John is going to kill me._

_Isn't there a way I can get rid of the pain?_

_Dean._

_Pain._

_Death._

_Jess._

Sam took a deep breath. He was on the verge of crying, but did not permit himself to do so.

He decided to turn the radio on, which was also, luckily, by the bedside. Even though his head hurt, he needed to be distracted.

Sam lay himself back onto the bed. He popped the bottle open and took one.

U2's '_With Or Without You'_ ended.

Sam closed his eyes, wanting to drift off, but his anxiousness kept him up.

_Where the hell is Dean? How long has he been gone? I thought he'd at least leave a note. Maybe he really has had enough of me._

A familiar song then came on the radio.

**-s-**

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_I'm tired and I_

_I want to go to bed_

**-s-**

Sam sighed. He thought of Jessica. How perfect everything she said was. How funny she was. How she played this song on the piano. How she made him happy. How he wasn't good enough for her. How he'd left her without saying a word. How Dean left him. How he'd made Dean cry, more than once!

_It's my fault Dean and I don't a mother. I murdered her._

_Holy shit it hurts. If I could just-_

The pill bottle was open.

**-s-**

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_And then leave me alone_

_Don't try to wake me in the morning_

_'Cause I will be gone_

**-s-**

It was too much. Everything was just too much. Sam had had enough.

**-s-**

_Sing me to sleep_

_Sing me to sleep_

_I don't want to wake up_

_On my own anymore_

**-s-**

He tipped the orange bottle into his steady palm. Everything seemed so calm. For once, everything seemed right.

_I've lost mum._

_I've lost John._

_I've lost Jess._

_I've lost Dean._

Sam raised his hand to his mouth, letting the pills fall into his mouth. He swallowed them dry.

**-s-**

_Don't feel bad for me_

_I want you to know_

_Deep in the cell of my heart_

_I really want to go_

**-s-**

He thought of Jess. He thought of her playing the tune. He thought of them being happy. He thought of everything good that had happened in his life - but it sadly wasn't much. It didn't overweigh the bad things. It wasn't even close.

At that moment, Sam closed his eyes. He thought of Jess. And he thought of her hands. And her touch. And her lips. Was he making a mistake?

He'd only really known the girl for six days, yet she was all he could think about. Her and Dean.

He let out a huff - that was the only thing he could manage.

**-s-**

_There is another world_

_There is a better world_

_Well, there must be_

_Well, there must be_

_Well, there must be_

_Well, there must be_

_Well…_

**The Smiths - Asleep**

…

**A/N: I'm going to a concert tonight (Taking Back Sunday) and another tomorrow (Parkway Drive), and a sleepover, and a knitting club, so I won't be able to post in a little while.**

**I originally intended this update to be longer, but I cut a bit off and put it in the next chapter as it fit better there. **

**Please review and so on. Thanks for reading and for the amazing ****reviews guys! You're awesome. :D**


	10. Chapter 10

**Four days after**

The bell rang and Sam still hadn't arrived. Jessica looked around the class in case he had slid in one of the back seats without her noticing. Sam wasn't there though. Jess could only hope that he would come late.

It was lunch and Sam still hadn't arrived.

"What are you thinking about Jess?" Ines asked. Jessica looked at the girls sitting at the table. She had known them for over two months now, but none of them had clicked like Sam and her had in those few days they had talked. Sure, they were her friends, even though they could be mean sometimes, but not to her. Jessica thought about the week after the summer holiday. They'd just started school and the girls they were already talking behind people's backs. Jessica decided to block them out every time they did so. Jessica recalled words like "weirdo" and "freak" when they talked about Sam. It had bothered Jess, but she kept her mouth shut.

"Stuff," Jess answered, chewing her food, remembering Sam answering the exact same thing when she asked him what he liked. Her mouth twitched slightly. Sam. The girls didn't miss one movement though.

"Is it a boy?" Claire asked giggling, jumping to the first conclusion. Jess inwardly rolled her eyes but didn't say or show anything. The girls took it as a yes.

"Oh my god, Jess!" They were all giggling. "Who?"

"Nobody you know," Jess answered. It was true, they didn't know the first thing about Sam. Only that he missed school quite a lot, always sat in the back, didn't say much, kept to himself, owned an unusual amount of hoodies, always tucked his shirt down, never had any short sleeves on, usually furrowed his brow like he was in pain, sometimes looked like he was sad, usually looked as though he was hiding something…

Jessica had never thought about these things before. A bad feeling started to rise. She stopped eating. This, the girls didn't notice. They were only concentrated on guessing who the mysterious boy was, and if he was good-looking.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Jessica didn't walk the detour. Even though Sam missed school the same amount as the slackers who also sat in the back of every classrooms (although Sam put effort into his work and got good grades), and it wasn't unusual for him not to come, Jessica was worried sick. Something didn't seem right - at all. She walked at a brisk pace trying to keep her mind off Sam, but _gosh_ something was so very very wrong. Why hadn't she noticed before? How come she just thought he was shy and innocent?

_Stop being so fucking ignorant!_ Jessica mentally shouted at herself.

Jessica stopped dead in her tracks. She really wanted to know if Sam was at least okay. She was about going back and taking the detour route she walked with Sam, when she remembered that he'd never told her where he lived. Geez, How much did she know about him? She thought back to Sam's impressed expression at her house. A knot formed in her stomach.

**Two days after - Meanwhile**

Dean was worried. He didn't know why, but he had a bad feeling about, about… _Something_. He couldn't quite put his finger on what was so very wrong. He stopped the car and rushed into the store.

While paying for the groceries at the cash register, he couldn't help regretting leaving his brother alone, even though Sam drastically needed food. He knew that he should feel calm; his brother was fifteen and he'd left a note… He just couldn't help feeling as though something was horribly wrong.

"Sir?" Dean wiped his head up at the voice cracked. "That'll be 8.99." The teenager repeated, trying to be stern but only to have his voice break again.

"What? Oh, yes." The teenager rolled his moody eyes and Dean couldn't see anything but Sam in them. He payed for the food and tylenol.

Dean stormed out onto the parking lot. He practically threw the plastic bag in the backseat before falling into the front seat. He stepped on the pedal and hurried back to Sam.

"_How long?_" The question kept repeating itself in Dean's head.

"_Too long._" The heart sinking answer.

Dean stepped on the accelerator harder. The conversation kept whirling around in his head.

"_He threatened to kill me._"

Every breath Dean took shook. He tapped the wheel nervously.

"_I should have been a better son._"

Dean's eyes clouded. The car drove faster. Dean didn't care. It was a miracle that he made it back to the motel alive.

Dean could only have been gone for twenty-five minutes max. If the motel wasn't in the middle of nowhere and everything so far away, he could have arrived earlier.

Everything seemed so still when he arrived at the motel. Only a few lights were on in some of the rooms. The majority of the lights were switched off, but Dean suspected this was because they were in the middle of nowhere, so no one lived there. He saw the light was still dimly lit in his and Sam's room, and relaxed a bit. Surely, Sammy was still asleep.

Dean opened the door softly in hope that Sam was still sound asleep. He sighed, relieved, when he saw his brother curled up on his side with his head away from the door. He looked so peaceful. Dean went over to him smiling a little, ruffling his brother's hair. The younger brother didn't move, which was unusual for him. Dean wanted to make sure that he was fine, so he shook him a little. Still, no response. Dean looked around the room when his eyes fell on the orange bottle on the bedside. Normally, Dean would have gone to bed, but the bottle was empty. Dean knew that the pills hadn't fallen onto the floor.

"SAM!" He yelled rushing to his brother's head. As before, Sam didn't stir. His brow was knitted tightly together. Dean checked for breathing, giving a cry when he could only find the seldom strangled breath.

"Shitshitshit, Sammy…" He moved two fingers up to his brother's throat.

He felt a weak pulse.

Dean carried Sam to the bathroom, frowning at how little he weighed considering how much he had grown lately. He couldn't blame him for losing his appetite so often though. He couldn't blame Sam for anything.

Dean stuck his fingers down his little brothers throat letting the puke rise up. He didn't care how gross it was, he needed the pills out. He needed Sammy back.

He continued checking for a pulse during the process of making his brother vomit. His hands shook so much and tears clouded his eyes, so it was hard to do so. He took deep breaths, steadying himself. Sam's pulse was still weak, but at least he was breathing somewhat normally. He continued letting the bile rise until he was sure that the pills were gone. He knew a few would still be there, but it wasn't life-threatening matter anymore.

"Dean?" Sam slurred, his eyes unfocused at the dark blur he could only hope was his brother. But how could it have been Dean? Dean had left. Gone. Then who was it whose scent was so familiar? Sam's vision cleared a little. It was Dean. Dean held him tight, just like Jessica had done but more protectively. He dug his head in Sam's shirt. His crying became uncontrollable. Dean couldn't stop the streaming tears. Sam clutched the back of his shirt, pressing his own eyes together in realization of what just had happened. Dean held Sam tighter, but not enough to hurt him. Dean stroked the younger siblings hair.

"I'm so sorry," Sam rasped after a moment.

Dean continued to cry.

Sam continued to feel guilty as fuck.

Dean continued blaming himself.

The sobbing continued.

"Why?" Dean managed to get out through choked tears. He was surprised that Sam could hear him.

"I just wanted out." An earnest answer.

Dean's heart dropped.

Silence.

"I'm so so fucking sorry, Sammy," Dean said not caring that he broke down in front of his little brother. He couldn't care less. All he cared about, all he _wanted_ in this damn world, was Sam to feel better. To feel happy.

"Why?" Sam slurred, confused.

"It's my fault, oh god, it's my fucking fault, Sammy," Sam shook his head vigorously, which hurt like hell, but Dean continued. "I should never have left. I should have realized what was going on. I should have asked how you were doing more often. To think that I saw your scars six days ago. Sammy, they looked so old. I should have… I'm so sorry. Holy shit. Just, god, Sammy, just don't blame yourself, _ever_."

Sam sniffled, bringing himself together.

"You shouldn't either, Dean. Really, _none_ of this shit was your fault," Sam mumbled into Dean's shoulder.

The Winchesters sat on the cold tile floor for what seemed like hours. Maybe it was hours. Sam nor Dean had concept of time in that moment.

When they came out of the tiny room, it was still dark out.

Sam silently cried for a bit more, letting the tears roll onto his already sticky face. Dean cried too, but louder. They were a sobbing mess.

Dean watched as Sam fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. The older brother woke several times during the last hours of the night, checking if Sam was alright.

It was nine am when Dean fully rose from his bed. He yawned and checked on his little brother for what seemed like the hundredth time. Maybe it was the hundredth time, he had lost count hours ago. He felt the heavy breathing and drastically stronger pulse. Dean was about to turn on the television when he noticed a piece of paper sticking out from beneath Sam's bed. It was the note he had left for Sam. He wondered how and when it had ended up there, and if Sam had even seen it.

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Five days after**

Bobby looked out the window repeatedly searching for headlights. The Winchester boys, well Dean, told him that they, him and Sam, were on the way over to him five days ago. Bobby knew that they were far away, and therefore knew something was wrong. Why would they travel across the country if it wasn't an emergency? He wondered why John wasn't coming. He wondered why Dean specifically had told Bobby _not_ to call his dad. Had something happened to him? Were they angry at each other? Bobby knew that John could be a jerk sometimes, but never to the point of his sons leaving him. It must be bad.

Bobby put the kettle on.

_They should have arrived this morning. Hopefully nothing's wrong. _Bobby looked out the window again, foolishly hoping that the headlights would appear. _Any second, _Bobby thought.

Half an hour pasted and Bobby was still musing about what had happened.

_Have the idjits been fighting again?_ Bobby continued in his head. _How bad can it be? _It was only when terrible things went wrong that the boys, and usually with their father, came. He remembered a few years back when they spontaneously dropped by after a hunt. Bobby immediately knew something was wrong. He rushed forward to see what it was when he saw the horrific sight of Dean's arm twisted the wrong way and dark bruises covering Sam. They had been hunting a werewolf and things got out of hand. Dean blacked out after it hurt his arm and said that he couldn't remember how Sam got hurt. Bobby remembered later when he tried to see the extent of Sam's damage, but he refused. That was three years ago.

_Must be an early bloomer, _Bobby thought back then, grinning a little.

He searched the driveway again. No sign of any Impala. He grabbed the kettle and poured a cup of coffee, smiling a little at how well the hunt with Rufus went yesterday. The smile faded. Honestly, he was more than worried about what had happened with the Winchesters.

It was midnight when he saw the Impala pull up in front of the house.

**Three days after**

They left the motel at noon not having rented the room for any longer.

"Alright there, Sammy?" Dean asked smiling at his brother. He knew that they would arrive late at Bobby's, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that Sam was at least okay, if not great. He knew that he should call Bobby, but couldn't bring himself to it. Hopefully, he wouldn't be angry with them showing up late, but how was he going to explain why they were late? He knew Bobby would ask into it, only to have his heart crushed.

"Fine," Sam replied still staring out of the same familiar window but with the different scenery. Sam hadn't said anymore than the occasional word ever since they had left the motel. He was ashamed of what he'd done. He should have expected Dean to come back. He pressed his head harder into the cold window hoping that it would subside his headache, and other aches, but as expected, it didn't. He still felt like shit and didn't dare ask Dean for any more painkillers. He knew the answer.

"Come on Sam, talk to me," Dean said playfully pushing Sam's shoulder a little.

"'bout what?" Sam asked drowsily.

"Like… What do you want to do when we get to Bobby's?" Sam raised an eyebrow. _That_ was what he wanted to talk about?

_Talk about anything to get your mind off everything,_ Dean thought.

"Take a shower." Sam said. Dean laughed a bit too loud.

"Me too, hey do you want to stop for dinner soon?"

"Dean, it's five thirty. We had lunch four hours ago."

_Yeah, and you ate nothing,_ Dean snapped back but not aloud.

"Come on, there's a diner over there."

"Fine."

**Five days after - midnight**

Dean stopped the car, they were finally at Bobby's. He stepped out, wondering if Bobby was asleep. He then noticed that the lights were on. He grabbed his duffel and went towards the house. Sam followed.

Dean didn't even have to knock before the door opened.

"Where have you been?" Bobby asked as he opened the door to reveal the boys' surprised faces. He turned white when he saw Sam's woeful, bruised, and cut face.

"Took a little longer than expected," Dean answered gravely. Bobby let them in. He really wanted to ask what was going on, but seeing the boy's looks, he decided to wait till later.

"Can I get you boys anything?" Bobby offered.

"Sam would like a shower and some coffee for me would be nice," Dean replied with a smile. Bobby nodded curtly and told Sam where the towels were. He heard a faint "thanks" when Sam walked past him. He put the kettle on for the eighth time that night.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam looked himself in the mirror; he looked absolutely terrible. His nose was swollen and a band-aid was placed across it. His eye, which was healing from the bullies, was black again. The rest of his face looked fine, except from the blue mark around his jaw and the fading small cuts.

Sam turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot, preferably scolding. Sam trembled. His body ached and he was still drowsy even though he'd slept for nearly the whole ride. He was grateful that he had managed to get some food down.

He stood beneath the hot water letting it cleanse his battered body. He was alone with his thoughts for a while.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

"So, what's the occasion?" Bobby asked curiously, pouring the coffee into two mugs. Dean tensed up.

"It's um… It's dad," he said at last. Bobby stopped.

"Has anything happened to him?"

"Yes, I did," Dean stated. Bobby sat down in front of him. He nodded, handing Dean one of the cups.

"What did he do?" Bobby asked taking a sip of the steaming beverage. Dean tensed up even more and adjusted himself in the seat.

"He hit Sam," Dean said. Bobby nearly choked on his coffee.

"He what?!" He exclaimed, but not loud enough so that Sam could hear the outburst under the running water. "He did that?" Bobby asked pointing towards the bathroom door indicating to the bruises on the younger brother's face.

"It's a long story," Dean said in a shaky voice.

"We've got all night," Bobby said as the shower turned off. Dean gave a small smile that faded as he remembered Sam's and his conversation on the way over to Bobby's.

_Sam had been thrashing around in his sleep again. He was finally awake and was staring out the window as the dull scenery flashed by. _

"_Hey Sam, want to tell me what your nightmares about? I know you've never slept well, but you've been thrashing around even more than usual," 'and I've been worried sick,' Dean ended in his head._

"_My body hurts," Sam halfly lied. Dean sighed. _

"_Well, you know if I give you more painkillers it'll become an overdose."_

_Dean put a, what was meant to be comforting, hand on Sam's knee, when Sam nearly screamed._

"_Whoa! Whoa Sammy," Dean said, wide eyed. "Sorry."_

_The lump in Sam's throat was enormous. _

"_He's going to kill me." He croaked out._

Dean watched as Sam emerged from the bathroom wearing a bunch of wet clothes, not having dried himself properly. Sam gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes; the same smile he'd been giving for ages. He then spoke up.

"Is it okay if I head to bed?" Sam asked. Bobby smiled warmly.

"Sure, just remember to check the salt lines," he answered. Sam nodded and went.

"So, John," Bobby continued in a low voice when Sam closed the bedroom door. Dean sighed looking gloomily down in his black coffee.

"I punched him." Dean said.

"Good." Bobby answered. "He deserved it."

"No, I mean yes, I mean I _really_ beat him up badly Bobby," Dean said. Bobby only nodded.

"Serves him right," he agreed, to which Dean agreed as well. John deserved what he did to him, he deserved worse.

"Do you know where John is now?"

"Left him on the ground like a bloody mess." Bobby nodded. He sat up, taking both cups, refilled them, and sat back down handing Dean the now full cup.

"Is this the first time John has hit Sam? You said that it was a long story." He knew that John could be a massive dick sometimes, but not to the extent of hitting someone - _hitting his own child_.

"No, and yes to the latter," Dean said. Bobby held his breath.

"Sammy," he muttered under his breath. Dean was looking back into his bitter coffee.

"Has John done anything…"

"Else?" Dean finished. "No. He tried to kill him though." Bobby's grip of the coffee mug was so tight that Dean was amazed that the cup hadn't broken yet.

"And how long has this abuse been going on?" Bobby asked maybe a bit too aggressively.

"I don't know, he didn't tell me. He just said too long."

"And the rest of the long story?"

"A quick version is that a Wendigo broke Sam's ribs. John and bullies from his school beat up Sam as well. It was last hunt, a salt and burn, that John aimed a gun at Sam."

_This is too much to take. _Bobby thought.

"And um…" Bobby was speechless. He watched as a tear trickled down Dean's cheek. He looked at Bobby, their sad eyes meeting.

"Bobby," his voice was as brittle as glass. "He tried to kill himself."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed it!**

**Thank you for reviewing, it's been great to hear what you think about the story. :)**


	12. Chapter 12

_"Hey Sammy," John said picking the four year old up. Sam laughed._

_"Hi daddy," he said. John stared into the boy's gleeful blue eyes, but could see nothing than his wife in them. He tried to smile at the baby, but failed. He carried him over to the car where Sam's eighth year old sibling was waiting for them. Dean smiled as John set Sam in front of the car._

_"Buckle him up, will ya?" John grunted slipping into the front seat. Dean wondered what suddenly had turned his father into such a grumpy mood, but lightened up when he saw his brother's happy face expression. Dean grinned._

_'What is wrong with me? Why did I suddenly turn so angry when I saw my own child?' John thought as he drove through town. He glanced in the backseat where everyone was strapped in and keeping each other company._

_"Look what I did made Dean!" Sam said happily showing Dean a picture with a few crayon doodles on. Dean couldn't look more excited._

_John was angry. He knew it the moment he saw the glint in Sam's eyes - the same glint that Mary got whenever she was happy._

_'For fucks sake John! It's not his fault!'_

Three years later, he thought differently. Eight years later, he acted upon it.

**Six days after - 12.45 am**

Bobby froze. How on earth was he supposed to react to this? How on earth was anyone supposed to react to this. His eyes widened to a comic extent.

"God…" Bobby whispered. He looked up at Dean again and saw the dark dark circles around his eyes. He had been so focussed on Sam that he didn't notice Dean's condition. He hadn't thought about how it had been for Dean to see his brother deteriorate in front of him. He wondered what had happened after Sam tried to kill himself. He wondered how Dean had reacted. So many thoughts whirled around in his head, so many questions.

"Did he actually, not succeed, but like…" His voice trailed off but Dean understood.

"Pills. Got them out of him in time," he answered solemnly. Bobby shook his head. He still couldn't believe it. He couldn't, wouldn't, imagine the scenario of Dean saving his brother.

"I should never have left." Dean said staring into his nearly drained cup. Boy, could he use something stronger than this shit. Bobby sighed.

"Dean." He said sternly. "Don't ever blame yourself, ever. How could you have know what would happen?"

"I could have woken him up and told him I was going out," Dean continued, beating himself up even more.

"Dean. " Bobby said rather aggressively. "No. I wasn't there but I know that none of this shit was your fault." Dean remained mute.

"Dean, you look exhausted. Go to bed." Dean huffed.

"Wish I could, but I just drained two cups of coffee."

Bobby got up and went to the kitchen. He returned with a large bottle of whisky. In the meantime, Dean got up to check on Sam.

The door to the bedroom creaked open. The room, as dark as it was, showed a darker bundle in the bed farthest from the door. The dark mass scrambled beneath the covers. Dean went over to the bed to check on his younger brother. He knew that Sam would be terrified if he woke up and saw a dark shadow stand by his bed, and hoped that that wouldn't happen.

Dean crouched beside the bed trying to get a good look at his brother in the dark. He wasn't thrashing about as much as he was in the car.

_Guess he feels safer here_. Dean smiled at that thought. He swept a hand through Sam's hair, making him calm down, and left.

Bobby was almost done with his first glass and reached for the whisky for a second cup.

Dean took the other filled glass while sitting down. He sipped the drink, letting the warmth run through him.

Bobby finally got himself together.

"Do you have the slightest clue how long this has been going on?" Bobby asked. Dean drained the alcohol.

"Well… I suspected something. I don't know what, but something."

"When?"

"I… I'm not going to go all theraputic on you Bobby!" Dean suddenly said caught up in anger. Bobby looked a little taken back. Dean relaxed.

"I'm sorry Bobby, it's not you I'm angry at, it's-"

"Don't you dare say yourself!" Bobby interrupted. "If anyone, blame John."

Dean nodded sadly.

"I just… I should have noticed it. Now that I think back to it, it was so obvious. Sammy is a careful person, I don't know how I believed that he got all those cuts and bruises from being clumsy and unlucky. I just… How could I have been so damn ignorant?" He kicked the leg of the table.

"No." Bobby repeated sternly. "It's not your fault, at all."

"Bobby, he cut himself." The older man sighed and put the radio on. They listened to the calming music and drank the strong drink. Dean kept peeping into Sam's room during the long night, checking if he was having a nightmare - or worse.

**A week after**

Jessica faked sickness and stayed home from school. Actually, she wasn't faking. She felt nauseous. The thought of Sam was drilling in the back of her mind. She thought about a scenario Sam was just under the weather, but her feeling in her gut told her otherwise. She knew something was terribly wrong, she just didn't know what. She remembered in the local news five days ago, where they had found a beaten up man in front of a motel. He was alive and had told the police, that he didn't know who the attacker was. The attacker came from behind. There were no witnesses.

Jessica thought about who it was. Did this man have kids? Did he have a wife? Was he a nice guy who didn't deserve shit like that?  
>Jessica laid down the book she was reading, and tiptoed downstairs. Her parents usually kept newspapers in a stack in the kitchen.<p>

Jessica picked up the right newspaper, thankful that they hadn't thrown it out yet. She tiptoed back upstairs and found found the article. She read the heartwrenching name.

Winchester. John Winchester.

**Six days after**

Nobody brought up the subject of Sam until the evening. It had been nice to relax like a normal, well as normal as the Winchesters' could have it, family. Sure, Sam hadn't said much, but that wasn't unusual. He hadn't said much since... How long had it been?

It was after supper when Sam was on the couch watching television, when Bobby walked in. He took the chair in the corner of the room. Dean followed, taking the seat beside Sam on the couch. Sam immediately knew what was going on and groaned. He couldn't take it. He felt as though he was a drug addict and this was his patronizing intervention.

Dean took the remote and turned the buzzing TV off. An unsettling silence filled the room.

"Sam, we have to talk about this," Dean started out by saying. Sam turned towards him.

"We already did," he said remembering what had happened after his unsuccessful attempt and the uncomfortable ride to Sioux Falls.

"I know, I hate to bring this up but we need to know more about what John did."

_Is there a more cringeworthy way to talk about this?_ The entire room thought.

Sam looked down at Dean's shoes.

"What do you want to know?"

"How long?"

It was Sam's turn to freeze. How could he tell them, his brother and the man he considered a dad more than John, that his father had abused him for four years, and that he hadn't told them because he was a coward and worried that they wouldn't believe a word of it?

Sam stayed silent. Dean knew that he wouldn't get the information like this. He started out slowly, asking a few questions.

"It wasn't the first time that night, was it?" Dean asked, implying to the incident six days ago. He already knew the dreaded answer, but his stomach still sunk when Sam shook his head.

"A week?"

Another shake.

"Several weeks?"

Another shake, this time smaller.

"A month?"

Sam buried his face in his head. Dean knew what that meant. He continued with caution.

"Half a year?"

Another shake. Dean couldn't believe it.

"More?"

This time, a nod.

"A whole year?" Dean's voice was shaky. He couldn't take it. He simply couldn't take it. He tried to recall a few years back. He felt nauseous when he remembered that Sam was still secretive then.

Sam was still.

_Why can't you just…_

"How many?" Dean croaked. Bobby sat in the corner with a sheet white face. He could barely take the tension anymore. He couldn't hear the hushed boy's voice, but he knew that it was horrendously bad.

After a moment, Sam held out four barely noticeable shaky fingers towards Dean.

Dean felt the urge to hit something.

Sam shrunk into himself.

Dean felt the urge to destroy something.

Sam wanted out.

Dean felt the urge to kill something.

Sam couldn't move.

Dean felt the urge to kill John.

Sam felt too vulnerable. Useless.

All Dean could do was let out a non-humorous huff.

_This is perfect. So fucking perfect._

**A/N: Let me know what you think! :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Two days after**

The fluorescent lighting shone brightly into John's eye-slits. He wanted to close them again and drift back to sleep - or unconsciousness. Whatever state he was in before was nice. This world hurt. He lifted his right arm, and felt his broken nose. The other arm hurt too much to move. John tried to sit up but fell back right onto the uncomfortable bed.

_A bed?_ John thought. _How did I end up on a bed?_ He shut his eyes tightly and opened them again. The light was the same, but he had a clearer view of his surroundings. He saw a drawn mint coloured curtain.

Where am I? He stared at the ceiling and forced himself to lift his head. The room came into view. A machine came into view.

_A fucking hospital._

"Sir?" A deep voice said from beside his bed. John looked up at the suited man.

"Yes?"

"I'm Mr. Smith. You're on a lot of painkillers, so I'll keep the questions short. You were attacked. Do you remember?" John thought back to how he ended up here. A flash of a fist came up. He tried to identify the fist. He had seen it before, just not directed against him. He shut his eyes tightly before opening them again.

Dean.

"Yes." John answered.

"Do you remember the attacker?"

"No." He said, slightly annoyed. He hated, fucking _resented_ questions. Especially from "authorities", whatever the hell they were supposed to be.

"Do you remember your name?"

"John Winchester." He stated.

"Do you have any family you would like to speak to?"

"No."

"Okay. Thank you for your time. I'll ask the doctor when you can be released." Mr. Smith added a short nod before leaving. John sighed.

Twenty minutes later a doctor came in.

"Sorry about the wait Mr. Winchester, I'm doctor Harley. You can sign the release papers tomorrow morning, we just want to keep you here for observation tonight, if that's alright. There seems to be nothing drastically wrong. You've suffered a mild concussion, a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder and on the same arm, a cracked bone and a sprained wrist. Your ribs have also sustained quite a bit of bruising a a few cracks. You were lucky though, if the attacker had out a bit more force on them, they would have broken and punctured a lung. We have sown two gashes up on your side as well. You lost quite a lot of blood. Are you positive you don't know who the attacker was?"

"Yes," John lied. "He must've come up from behind."

The doctor gave his own curt nod and left.

**Six days after**

Antagonizing silence. Bobby palms were squeezing so tightly together that sweat was literally dripping down. Sam shrunk into himself, laying his head in between his knees. Dean lay a comforting, though wary, hand on his back. Every comforting word he had to say, seemed to stick on the tip of his tongue and never roll out.

Finally, Bobby stood up. He gestured a head movement, indicating Dean to follow. Dean slowly removed his hand, but Sam didn't seem to notice anything.

Bobby leaned against the kitchen counter.

"You have called the cops, right?" He said. Dean hesitated for a moment.

"I considered it. I didn't know how bad it was until… There are too many questions," Dean mumbled guilty. "I should have called the moment I saw it. I think I just didn't want it to be real."

Bobby gave Dean a sympathetic look.

_He must be going through hell_, he thought.

"So I assume you didn't bring him to a hospital either?"

"No…" Dean muttered.

_Bobby should really wash his floor,_ Dean thought as he stared down at it.

"Too many questions?" Bobby asked.

Dean nodded.

"I told him that if he felt any discomfort, well you know like difficulty breathing or dizziness, we would go." Dean realized how stupid that was. His stubborn brother was never going to tell him if anything was wrong.

This time it was Bobby's turn to lay a comforting hand on the younger man in the room.

"I'll call them," he said with a squeeze on Dean's arm. Dean gave a small smile and went back to his still curled up brother on the couch. He turned on the television.

**SPN-SPN-SPN**

It was the telephone ringing, more like screeching, that woke Dean. Sam was still asleep but kept on stirring. He walked over to his younger brother and let out a gasp when his brother's eyes opened wide and alert.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said. Sam looked contemplate.

"How long have you been sitting there?" He asked. Dean let out a chuckle.

"Don't worry Sammy, I've not been creeping over you-" He was cut off by Bobby's gruff "Hello?"

Dean smiled at Sam.

The brothers both snapped their heads around when they heard a fist slamming into the counter.

Bobby's face was red.

"You fucking bastard, no way in hell!" He shouted furiously.

Figuring out who it was easier than drawing a breath.

The phone call ended in the middle of Bobby's yelling.

Nervous silence.

"Sorry for waking you Sam," Bobby grunted, eyes penetrating the phone as though John was going to call again, so that Bobby could yell at him a bit more.

"'s fine, I was already awake," Sam said with a reassuring smile. Bobby sighed realizing that John wouldn't call again.

"I'm so so sorry for all that he's done Sam."

"It's not your fault," Sam answered with again with the reassuring smile that broke Bobby's heart. Sam's smile. It was as though it was plastered on his face, like a mask hiding something his true expression.

"Anything I can get you, boys?" Bobby asked.

Sam's mind immediately jumped to one thing when the question was asked.

_Jess._

**A week after**

Jessica needed to know more about the eldest Winchester. She re-read the article again, and again, and again, only to have her heart broken a little more every time. She was so confused and needed to know more.

She needed answers.

She needed to find John Winchester.

**A/N: Thanks for reading and for the awesome reviews! :D**


	14. Chapter 14

**Eight days after**

"Hello?" The voice of a woman came from the phone.

"Hi, this is Ines from Jessica's class. Could I please speak to her?" Ines asked.

"Certainly," was the response. Ines heard faint footsteps and a low murmur. Moments later, she heard Jessica's voice.

"Hello?" She asked drowsily.

"Hey Jess, it's Ines. Why weren't you at school Friday?"

"Sick."

"Sucks. I'm sorry to hear that," Ines answered sounding genuinely caring. She did care. She liked Jess and knew how she felt. When she had started middle school in this shitty town, she too, didn't say much. It was only when she met the girls from high school that things went south. Well, she din't exactly meet the girls from her class in high school, but in middle school they didn't talk but knew who each other were. Ines knew they had changed since then, and her to when she was with them.

"If you feel better, are you up to do something Monday after school?" Ines asked.

"With you and the other girls?" Jessica asked.

"No. Just me," Ines said nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

"Sure, sounds fun," Jessica lied, she wanted to find out what happened to Sam, not hang with the girl who spoke behind people's back, even though Ines actually seemed nice. The reason why she thought it wouldn't be fun, was because she only had Sam on her mind, and how to find John Winchester.

**One day after**

A constant thump in his head kept him up.

Pain.

Sam sat up too fast and felt dizzy. He threw his weary head back on the backseat where he was sleeping in an awkward fetal position.

Sam groaned, holding both his hands up to his temples. A fierce throbbing came from behind his eyes. He shut them tight, but that only seemed to make it worse. He opened them again and lifted his head up slowly. He glanced into the rear-mirror. His bloodshot eyes stared back.

"Sammy?" Dean's worried voice spoke softly, but it seemed like a roar to Sam.

_Stop shouting,_ Sam thought.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked laying a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam hated it. He hated that Dean was so cautious about it. He hated how he didn't act normal around him anymore. He hated that he found out.

"Head hurts," Sam winced, rubbing his temple once again.

"Do you want some water?" Dean asked. Sam nodded through the pain and Dean handed him a water bottle. He couldn't quite catch it though, he was still quite out of it.

Sam clenched his teeth together as the pain became more intense.

The bottle touched his lip and the cold liquid slipped through his throat.

"Okay there?" Dean asked when Sam was done draining the bottle. Sam nodded. The water had actually helped.

"Don't puke in my car." Dean warned.

"Don't know. I have a bad... feeling," Sam slurred, his eyes drifting a little to the side. He wanted to go back to sleep.

"Dean I'm not going to let that bastard hurt you, get near you, even look at you. You're safe now," Dean said with a stern look at his brother's face.

"I know," Sam reassured. "It's about something else."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Can't remember. Probably nothing 'portant," Sam said, letting his heavy eyelids shut.

**Nine days after**

John arrived back to the usual motel he had rented. After the hospital, he had immediately gone to were somewhat back in place, but there was a small red stain on the carpet. He knew that it was either his or one of his sons. He wondered how time it had taken the maid to tidy up the mess and if he had to pay for the damage.

A knock on the door.

John whipped his head around. _Who can it be?_

He opened the door to a crack. A pretty blonde was standing at the door with a nervous smile.

"John Winchester?" She asked politely. John grumbled a "yes".

"Is Sam Winchester your son?"

John stopped.

"What do you want?" He slurred aggressively. Jessica took a step back and her cheeks turned red.

"Um… I was just wondering how he was doing, he hasn't been to school lately and-" John interrupted her with a drunken laugh.

"You're worried?" He laughed again. Jessica wanted to run when she could smell the liquor on his breath.

"You're worried," he repeated again. "About that little shit? Well that's just cute."

Jessica's face turned sour at John's horrid smirk.

"Sorry for bothering you, sir," she quickly said before turning her heel around and walking with a quick pace. When she was out of the drunken man's sight, she ran. She couldn't, wouldn't, bring herself to think about how Sam could stand living with a drunk. Her sight was getting blurred by tears. Even after spending two mere minutes with the man, she was terrified of him.

**Ten days after**

The bell rang and people gathered their stuff. As usual, the people who didn't have a strong social status in the class, leaved first. The others stay behind and wait for their friends, or in some cases "friends". Ines knew Jessica was waiting for her, and took more time than she needed to pack her stuff. In the end, it's only the two of them in the classroom.

"So, where do you want to go?" Jessica asks when everyone has left. Ines shrugs.

"Park?" Ines suggest to which Jessica agrees.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

John knew he had to get away from the town. His head, arm, shoulder - everything, hurt, but he knew he had to do it anyways. Nothing was worse than the cops banging on his door. He was fairly certain that they boys had called the cops. He was a hundred percent sure that they had gone to Bobby's.

John packed his bag with a hurry and gave the keys for the room back to the motel owner. He ended up paying for the damage. They told him that when they had found the attacker, they would pay. He had rented the place for a few more months, but that didn't matter. He needed to get the hell away and find Dean. The only problem was that the Impala was missing and half the credit cards were snatched by Dean.

John swore loudly; he knew that this meant that he had to take the goddamn bus.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

The walk to the park wasn't long since it was near to the school. Jessica had expected loads of gossip from Ines, but she seemed to keep somewhat quiet. Jessica started wondering if she'd ever been alone with Ines. The answer was simple; no.

"So, how do you like our class," Ines said and turned to Jessica. "And be honest."

Jessica looked at Ines.

"It's fine I guess, could be worse," Jessica shrugged. Ines nodded.

"Do you like the girls?" Was Ines's next question. Jessica shrugged.

"They're-"

"Don't say fine."

"Mean. But only to some people" Ines snorted.

"I know. You think I'm mean as well, right?"

"No," Jessica blushed. Half of Ines's face quirked up.

"Sure you don't," she said sarcastically. "I just want you to know that that's not who I am. I just act that way in school because, you know, social status."

"No, really. You can be really nice and funny, when you're not talking badly about other people that is."

Ines couldn't hold her smile back. _Does she feel the same way?_ She hoped.

They had arrived at the park.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

John knew that it would be a pretty long walk to the bus stop. He grumbled something about how there should be a bus in front of the motel and took the short cut through the park. He stumbled many times on the way due to his drunken state. He tried to remember the last time he _hadn't_ drunk something, but couldn't recall it. Even as he walked, there was a flask in his pocket which he took a few sips of. He awkwardly staggered over the street to the park. All he had in mind was to find Dean and to take his good son away from the useless one - the burden.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

Ines and Jessica walked for a bit, hands digging deeply into their pockets to protect them from the November chill. They had talked for a while without it being awkward, or Ines acting like she was when she was with the other girls. Jessica regretted how badly she, herself, responded to Ines questions and jokes, but she only had one thing, well person, on her mind.

"If you don't mind me asking," Ines said after a pause. "Who do you like? Like, who was the boy you were talking about?"

Jessica blushed. Ines laughed a little.

"Come on, you said that we don't know him." Ines smiled at Jessica, while she looked at the ground.

"Well, you don't _really_," Jessica mumbled. Honestly, she wasn't used to Ines being such a good friend and was scared that she would tell people her secret.

"Who is it?"

"Sam from our class."

Ines stopped. She actually looked sad.

"Sam? The freak?" Ines snapped.

Jessica looked flushed. He stopped abruptly.

"He's not a freak! Oh my god Ines, seriously, you really are like the other girls!" She spat.

Jessica stopped when she saw the tears forming in Ines eyes.

_God, I hate myself,_ Ines thought. She regretted calling him that, Jessica would only think badly about her now.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it. It's just what we call him at school, and it sorta slipped…"

Jessica squeezed Ines's arm.

"It's fine, really."

Ines smiled at her friend. Jessica gently smiled back, her blue eyes filled with such friendliness… Suddenly Jess's face dropped when she saw a man with a gruff beard and a duffle ten meters away from them. A flask was loosely in his hand. He took a swig. Jessica's eyes filled with dread. Even from a distance, she could tell how drunk he was. Her head was spinning with thoughts about Sam; where he was, if he was okay, how his life was at home, if he was home…

"What is it Jess?" Ines asked with worry, wondering what the beautiful girl was looking at with horror.

"Let's go the other way," Jess said tugging Ines's arm.

When she thought that they were far enough away from the creep named John Winchester, they talked again.

"Why did you want to meet after school?" Jessica asked because she's been wondering that for a while. Ines and her usually only spoke at school and at parties, when there were other people around. It was Ines's turn to turn her cheeks red.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm not like the other girls from the class."

"Oh, okay." She gave a small smile.

"Because," Ines continued. "I like you."

"You're a great friend as well. You're easy to talk to-"

"No Jess, I _really_ like you. Screw Sam, I like you. Honestly, you're the only good thing in my life. School's hard and I just..."

Jessica was speechless, and even more when she saw that John was staring at her from far away. All colour from her face drained.

"C-could we please talk about this another time?" Jessica asked shakily.

"What's the matter?" Ines asked shyly. She was still shaking a little from the confrontation of her feelings.

"I need to go home, uh, don't feel so good."

"Okay, I'll call you tonight, is that okay?" Ines said warily.

"Yes, sure," Jess said too afraid to add a smile.

She gave a quick hug, more like squeeze, to Ines, and walked briskly off towards the bus stop, so that she could come home as fast as possible.

**A/N: I just argh! It's been a month exactly since I published this story and holy shit, the numbers! This was not what I expected, at all. Wow. I simply cannot thank you enough, you're amazing, all of you! :D**

**I hope you liked the chapter even though it didn't have a lot of Sam and Dean in it. The next will probably, although I don't know for sure. I have writer's block at the moment, so sorry if some of the chapters aren't great.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Ten days after**

"_Shut up!" John yelled, hurdling a bottle to the floor and smashing it into thousands of pieces. Sam took a deep breath. John picked up a piece of glass. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Nothing did. When he opened them again, John stood before, inches away, him with the glass in his hand. He grabbed Sam's hand before the son could retreat it. _

"_Go do what you do so very well. The only thing you do well," John spat, placing the shard of glass in the boy's palm. _

_Sam stared at his father with wide eyes. _

_John rolled his eyes. _

"_Of course I know, you're not very good at hiding it," he said grabbing Sam's wrist. Sam gulped. His mouth was dry and his next word was wheezy. _

"_Dean…" _

"_Dean knows you're doing it, he just doesn't care," John lied. _

_Sam's eyes watered and he gripped the glass tightly in his sweaty pal. He watched as blood leaked from his fist. _

_John left with a smirk. 'Have I finally got through to the kid?' He thought._

_Sam was with the bloody shard of glass in an empty motel room._

Sam woke with a jolt in an empty room. That was one of the many horrible memories he didn't want to remember - ever. He stood up, placing his bare feet on the wooden floor. He walked towards the door to get some water, when he heard hushed voices.

"We need to get him some help," Dean said.

"I agree with ya, but how?"

"We'll figure something out, we always do!"

"This isn't the same situation we normally deal with," Bobby said gravely and poignantly.

"And what do we do with John?" Dean asked.

"We'll figure something out."

_John?_ Sam thought_. What does _John _have to with this? Was he coming?_

Sam's breaths started to quicken.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

"Gotta hand it to ya Jess, you really are a pretty one," John's said with a low drunken voice five meters away from Jessica. Jessica was dead still. She turned her head the other way as though she hadn't heard him, praying that the bus would come.

_Any moment now, come on_, Jessica hoped without success.

"So you want to know where Sammy is?" John slurred, taking another swig of the burning liquid. He walked closer to Jess. "I can tell you that. He's at his uncle's."

Jessica continued staring at the road. It was too dark for her likings.

"I'm going there now. You could come." Jessica turned towards the man. She saw his broken nose and still bruised eye. She noticed how he prefered one side to the other when he walked, well staggered since he was so drunk.

"Who did that to you?" Jessica asked.

"My son, Dean."

"Why?"

"..." He shrugged.

Jessica looked at the man with pity. His own son had beat him up, and thoroughly. She wondered if Sam had anything to do with it. Sam looked like a guy who couldn't even _imagine_ hurting a fly. She remembered looking into his eyes though. He looked like he'd seen some seriously shit. For a moment she wondered if she knew him that well, they'd only know each other for a short period of time.

"I've gotta make a phone call." John said. Jessica nodded, turned her head, and continued waiting for the bus.

John staggered a few meters back and searched for his cell phone. He typed Bobby's number and heard three loud beeps, before a gruff greeting.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam knew that he had to find out what was going on. He tried to calm his breathing and fumbled for warm socks that he could put on. He made his way down the creaky stairs. Dean noticed him and stopped talking to Bobby.

"Hey bud, why aren't you asleep?"

"Don't patronize me, I'm getting some water," Sam said trying to cover up his curiosity and succeeding. Dean raised his hands defensively while a smile slipped across Bobby's lips.

_Things are just as before - almost._ He thought. Sam went to the sink to fill a glass when the phone rang.

"Who is this?" Bobby grumbled while picking up the phone.

"Give me... uh, son," John slurred. Everybody in the room could hear it.

"No!" Bobby growled. Bobby was about to slam the phone when John spoke up again.

_I need to fix this phone_, Bobby thought, wincing at how loud it was.

"Tell Sam," John started saying, although he didn't need to since Sam could hear him perfectly. "That I'm looking at his pretty girlfriend right now."

Sam dropped the glass in the sink. His eyes were wide and fearful. Dean looked at him with worry and curiosity.

_Sam has a girlfriend?_ He thought and wondered why Sam hadn't told him about her. For a moment he was filled with guilt. _Have I done something to Sam?_ He shook it off and nervously looked around the room, scared of what John would do. Bobby stared at the floor thinking about the right thing to say to John, but he had already hung up. The room fell tense and silent. Sam felt like his world was crumbling around him.

**A/N: I had an assignment for English where I had to write what I thought was 6-7000 words, but then my friend told me that it was 6-700 words. That's why I haven't uploaded in a little while; I've been stressing over nothing. Seriously, I wrote like 3000 words before I found out, ugh. **

**Thank you for the amazing reviews guys and happy holidays! :D**


	16. Chapter 16

**Ten days after**

"Crap, fuck, shit, damn it!" Dean shouted while pacing the living room.

"Dean calm the fuck down, swearing does not help a bit," Bobby said loudly. Dean ignored it.

"What the hell do we do, huh? We can't just sit back while John, the creepy bastard, is with Sam's girlfriend?" He turned to Sam, somewhat hurt that he didn't know about it, but guilty as well. He barely knew what Sam had been through, how he felt. "You have a girlfriend?"

"M'not a prude Dean," Sam said with difficulty. Everything is his mouth is so dry and sticky at once.

"I'm gonna _kill_ John," Bobby suddenly growled, emphasizing the 'kill' part and standing up. "I knew he was a jerk but holy shit."

Sam still stood by the sink, completely still in shock and horror. _Jess._

"Is he coming here?" He asked after a moment. Dean looked straight into Sam's big fearful eyes, fearful being an understatement. He hated, resented, seeing his little brother so terrified of his own, their own, father. A father, Dean had thought, that would _never_ do anything so horrible. Looking back, he realized that his dad, who now seemed like a stranger, like the enemy, would have, but Dean never wanted to believe it. A soft spot. He knew too much about those.

Dean blinked but continued staring into the glassy eyes of his sibling.

"Yes, and we're going to kick his ass." He stated.

Sam took a deep breath.

It was too much to handle.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

"Hello Mrs. Moore," Ines said nervously. "It's Ines again, I was together with Jess earlier today and told her I'll call her tonight. Is she there?"

"Sorry sweetie, she's still not come home… She should have been home half an hour ago actually, I've been sort of worried," Jessica's mum cleared her throat. "She'll probably be home soon, I'll call you back if I hear anything."

"Yes, thank you, goodbye," Ines said.

"Take care."

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

Ines put the phone back.

_Where the hell is Jess?_

**Eleven days after**

"How can you still be drunk?" Jessica asked John who merely scratched his beard. The last time Jessica saw him take a drink was ages ago, luckily. She knew the dangers of drinking and driving.

"Dean stole my car." He grunted. Jessica rolled her eyes. "Let me ask _you_ a question," he continued.

_Do I have a choice?_ Jessica thought, but held it back as she was afraid of what the man might do. She felt so so sorry for Sam for having a drunk as a father. She wanted to go home. She wondered what her parents were doing at this moment, as she hadn't come back home last night. Ines was going to call her last night, she remembered. She wondered how that went.

"What on earth do you see in my useless son?" Jess' eyes filled with tears for the sixth time just that morning. Yes, she had kept count. She took a breath.

She engine of the stolen car was loud enough to drain her small sob.

"He's nice, use_ful_, smart, funny, good taste in music."

John's laugh made Jessica's blood curl.

"Do you even know the first thing about him?" He boomed while the car kept drifting off to the sides. Jessica took her something breath, she hadn't kept count of them as there were that many.

"Please let me go home," she said with a whimper.

Jessica's stomach grumbled which John noticed.

"Here," he said, tossing Jessica a sandwich.

"I'm not taking anything from you," Jess said disgustedly.

"Fine."

"Asshole," Jessica mumbled before a large arm swung towards her head.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

When Jessica woke up, her head throbbed like it never had before.

"I'm doing my best to protect my son from the demon."

_Demon?_ Jessica thought. _Oh my god, he's referring to Sam. _

Jessica bit back all of her insults.

She would kill for some water.

She tried to recall why she's in a car with the bastard, although it's a blurry memory.

"_Hey Jess," John said, walking over to her again after the phone call. Jessica turned her head in acknowledgement, immediately regretting it as she looked pitifully at the drunken man. _

"_The bus is coming soon," Jessica blurted the first thing that came on her mind. John huffed, his breath reeking of booze. _

"_I know, but I know a faster way,"_

'_Good for you,' Jessica thought. Her eyes followed the drunken man. He was walking, well waddling, over to the only car on the street. Jessica wondered what idiot would have parked there._

"_You're drunk!" Jessica calls. _

'_Damn it, why is this town so little. The next house is so far away!' _

_The door of the blue car is open and the engine on. John stumbles towards Jess. _

_The bus is so freaking close. _

"_Jess, come," John calls. _

"_No, I'm fine here thank you!"_

"_A polite one, you are," he says. He stood next to Jess. His stench became stronger as ever to Jessica, who was standing half a meter away from him. _

_John grabbed her arm._

_Jessica screamed a muffled scream as John's hand was already over her mouth._

_Jess kicked, but John's grip was tight. _

_John grabbed her waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder. _

"_ANYONE, HELP!" Jessica screamed again muffled. No one came. _

_John's grip tightened._

_Jessica knew this was going to bruise. _

_John thought about knocking her out. _

_Jessica was beginning to understand Sam's painful expression at school, but hoped she was wrong. _

_John practically threw her into the car and slammed the door. _

_Jessica was starting to know why Sam was being to secretive._

_John slipped in the seat beside her._

_Jessica struggled. _

_John locked the doors and began the drunken driving. Jessica was to petrified to do anything._

**Thirteen days after - 2 am**

Sam's awake and John knew it.

"SAM!" John hissed from outside the younger's window. Sam gulped. "Sam, come down."

It's an order.

Sam walked over to the window.

"And why on earth would I do that?" Sam asked.

"Because I told you. You never do what I say-"

"And why should I start now?"

"I. Am. Your. _Father_."

"You sure as hell don't act like one."

John got red.

"Come on boy, I have leverage," John snarled.

Sam took a breath.

"Don't wake anyone." John added.

Sam nodded.

_WhyamIdoingthis?WhyamIdoingthis?WhyamIdoingthis?WhyamIdoingthis?WhyamIdoingthis?WhyamIdoingthis?WhyamIdoingthis?_ The words repeated themselves over and over as Sam walked down the stairs from the bedroom.

_Oh right, I remember. I'm a coward. I don't deserve Bobby or Dean looking after me. God knows what the bastard would do to Jess if I don't come. It's all my fault, everything. No matter who tries to convince me otherwise. I- Fuck me, that's what. Jess doesn't deserve this. I shouldn't have talked to her. I deserve this. I don't deserve to live. I wish Dean hadn't come back to that motel room. I wish I grew up in a normal family so I could have avoided this mess, but I'd probably fuck that up as well. I'm not clean. John said so, he didn't say why though. Just hit me. Over and over and over... I wish I had a blade. A nice, shiny, sharp blade that would tickle my skin nicely. I don't want to do this. I want to run away. Why am I still walking. Why am I at the door. Shit, I'm opening it. John is right there. _

"Where?" Sam asked when he was outside.

John gestured towards his car.

"Come with me and I'll show you to her. She will be the last thing you see."

Sam oddly didn't feel afraid. He walked steadily over to the man with a knife sticking out of his pocket, and the alcoholic odour that Sam could smell from a distance.

As Sam walked, his thoughts raced. The worst part was that Sam knew that he wasn't going to see Jess, he even doubted that she was here and if John was bluffing. He wanted to come, he wanted to get beat up. He deserved it. He hated that he thought like this, that he was so selfish to Bobby, to _Dean_. He actually smiles. No tears, just a small curl rising up at the corner of his mouth. After all this, he smiles.

**A/N: Yay, my writing flow came back! Hope you enjoyed it and leave a review. ;)**

**Merry christmas or whatever you celebrate, I wish you all a great time! :)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thirteen days after**

It all happened so fast.

Sam curled his hand into a fist, John mirrored him.

Jessica stirred in her disturbed sleep. She heard voices.

Sam was determined to hurt John as much as John wanted to hurt him. Maybe even more, which was completely understandable.

Jessica opened her disoriented eyes.

Sam threw the first punch straight into his father's jaw.

John stood still as though it hadn't affected him. He bolted his knee up in Sam's stomach before pounding an elbow on his back.

Jessica screamed was she saw the scene roll out in front of her.

Sam wondered where the scream came from, as he only had John in his focus.

Dean woke at the ear-splitting noise. He was lying in the warm bed when he sat strait up.

"Sam!" He called out of reflex into the dark room. If it wasn't for the curtain missing, he wouldn't have been able to see a thing. He looked over to his brother's bed in the corner of the room. His heart dropped. It was empty.

"Bobby!" He called with panic. He pulled a thick hoodie on and ran out of the room and down the stairs. He was relieved when he found Bobby already standing by the door. He saw the shotgun in Bobby's hand. The door bolted open into the dark night.

Jessica was dumbfounded. John lifted his knife. He was about to plunge it into Sam's stomach. Jessica didn't know what to do. She screamed again and got up from the car, holding it for balance.

Sam tried to say something but had no air left in his lungs. John traced the knife on his son's stomach, applying more and more pressure every inch he went. Sam winced and struggled to get away so that he could hurt John to further extent, who already seemed to have re-broken his frail nose, his shoulder and jaw so far. He was happy to see all the bruises he had inflicted. Maybe Sam wasn't as weak as he had been told, had thought. He lost his balance when the knife became deeper.

_Do it quick_, Sam thought, shutting his eyes tight. John was holding his tight by his shirt.

"Sammy!" Sam heard a recognizable voice shout from a distance. Dean's voice.

"Drop the knife and kid or I'll shoot!" Bobby tested. He was less than seven meters away from them. John lowered his knife, grazing Sam's leg on the way.

"You won't shoot," John said calmly. Bobby raised the gun a little higher and got ready to aim.

"Hell I won't!" He scowled back. John let Sam go who hurdled to the floor. Sam grunted while trying to move. Dean hurried to his side and helped, although Sam wasn't aware of his presence as he still thought that Dean was far away. His voice seemed distant. He only thing he was aware of, was pain and why he wasn't dead yet.

"Bobby, please, listen," John panted.

"GO AWAY YOU PATHETIC ASSHOLE!"

John stood still. Sam finally sensed Dean's presence.

A gun noise rang, making Sam flinch violently as Dean continued holding his broken brother tightly.

"S'gonna to be alright Sammy," he whispered, pressing his lips on his brother's head. Sam closed his eyes, waiting.

"Where's Jess?" He asked at last. Dean thought about who Jess was, as Sam hadn't said her name before, when it clicked.

"Car," Dean said through a scowl at John's drunken state and fucking-asshole-creepy personality. They heard more of Bobby's shouting.

"Find out if she's okay," Sam said.

"Sam-"

"I'm fine… Considering," he added as he watched Dean expression when he said fine. Dean stripped his hoodie and applied it to Sam's stomach.

"Keep pressure on it," he said. Sam nodded.

"Next bullet goes in your shoulder, then heart. I'm a good aimer, don't test me," he growled.

"I can explain," John begged.

"FUCKING SCUM YOU ARE!" Bobby's yelled.

"I'll get Jess, wait here," Dean whispered to Sam.

_Do I have a choice?_ Sam thought when Dean was off.

Another gun shot.

John groaned in pain.

Blood.

Bobby ran towards John, and before the dick could notice, he was hit by a large fist on his head. He instantly fell over. Bobby spat on him, kicked him, before rushing to Sam's side.

"Sonofabitch," Bobby hissed. Sam extended a hand so that Bobby could help him up. The walked, rather limped, towards the house where Dean had taken a disorientated Jessica. Bobby kicked John hard in the groin on the way.

With no hesitation, they called the police.

**A/N: Thanks for reading, I hope you are enjoying your holiday!**

**Review? Thanks! ^_^**


	18. Chapter 18

Sam knew he was suppose to be silent, he knew the consequences if he wasn't. His dad's brow was furrowed with sweat literally dripping down. Sam knew that it was a hot summer day, hell he sweated too, but it was as though there was another reason of John's incredible amount of sweat.

_Sweating like the pig he his_, Sam thought. He wrinkled his nose. John spoke up in a gruff voice.

"It just doesn't make any damn sense," he said, scanning the page another time. "Sam, here. Dean says you're good at shit like this," John said to his nearly fifteen year old son. Sam stood up, hiding his wince from his bashed knees, and took the book that John was holding out for him. As he read it and John eyed him angrily, Dean came in.

"Hey Sammy, doing research?" Dean asked when he saw Sam bent over a filthy book. Sam nodded.

"Hey dad," Dean said before putting a stack of twenty dollar bills on the table. John grinned largely.

"Good job son!" He praised. "Do you want to go out and get some lunch for us?" He asked.

"Sure," Dean answered, pleased with his work. He grabbed a few bills before leaning towards his brother.

"Is it hard?" He asked Sam, indicating to the research.

"I'll manage," Sam said, not wanting to complain.

"Dad, why aren't you helping Sam?" Dean couldn't help but ask.

_Because he's a stupid fuck,_ Sam thought.

"These weapons aren't going to clean themselves," John answered. Dean was about to argue that research was more important at the moment, but held his tongue. His father knew best, he always did. Sure, he could be a little hard sometimes, but it was always for the best.

"Okay," Dean answered, pulling his shirt a little out to get some air under it. It was too hot for his, _everyone's_, liking.

_Please don't leave_, Sam thought and peered up with pleading eyes. Dean didn't notice them though and left.

"Hurry Sam," John grunted when he was sure Dean was far from earshot. Sam stared at the page, but it was incomprehensible and nearly illegible. It was as though it was written in a completely different language. Sam peered up at John who glared threateningly back. Sam couldn't wait til Dean came back as the tension of the room was sky high.

**Thirteen days after**

Jessica was feebly drinking a glass of water with shaky hands. Her, and everybody else's, eyes were staring down at the too pale Sam. His shirt was off and the wound was worse than they had hoped. It had started out as a pinch but got deeper and deeper to the point of needing stitches. Jessica turned pale at the sight. Sam's face was scrunched up in pain and again, was unaware of his surroundings. Everything was blurry and hurt. He heard, or at least thought he heard, Dean's soothing voice beside him.

"Okay Sammy, this may hurt a little but I want you to stay strong, like you always are. Strong."

_No, that can't be Dean's voice. I'm not strong, _Sam thought.

He felt a hand caress his hair before a searing pain on his stomach as the wound was being rinsed. He wanted to scream as the pain was so unexpected to him.

Jessica didn't know what she should say, if she even should say something. She didn't and continued staring for some reason. She didn't want to stare, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to go home. She wanted to hug Sam and tell him that it was going to be alright, like Dean was doing at that moment. Jessica could tell that they were close.

Jessica whimpered when Dean put more pressure of the wound and Sam winced loudly. That's when Bobby turned to her.

"Are you sure you want to see this?" He asked gravely but with care. Jessica stood stump for a second before she heard sirens wailing and red and blue lights flashing into the living room through the window.

"Thank god," Dean said but didn't move. He stroked his brother's messy hair again. He looked, _was_, so young. How did it come to this? Bobby had already gone outside. Paramedics came inside while the cops dealt with John. Jessica didn't know what to do as the paramedics leaned over Sam to check how he was.

They heard a car drive away with what they assumed was a beaten up bastard.

**Fifteen days after**

Dean had given his number to Jess so that she could call if she wanted to. She had accepted it gratefully, and thought that it was time to use it now. She went downstairs and picked up the phone. Her mother was watching her from the living room and Jessica couldn't blame her, she had only come home yesterday and they were all still shaken up.

Dean's phone rang thrice.

"Hello?" He asked, walking from Sam's room and into the hospital hallway.

"Hi, it's Jess. Is Sam alright?" She asked, skipping the dull "how are you" where she already knew the reply. Dean was worried sick, but would probably lie about it. Dean was happy she didn't ask it as he didn't want to lie or pour his feelings out over a damn phone.

"He's better. He's resting at the moment," Dean answered softly. Jessica fiddled with the phone cord.

"Okay, good. Could you tell him I called?" Jessica asked timidly. Dean smiled.

"Sure," he answered and it felt like a weight was lifted of Jessica's shoulders.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam couldn't help but groan. He opened an eye halfway, just enough to see Dean. He was still tired. He knew that he was on painkillers and Dean didn't like one bit of it. He sat nervously beside his bed with Sam's hand in his.

"You're awake?" Dean asked superfluously. Sam looked at him.

"No." Dean ignored his cocky answer.

"Jessica called," Dean said. "Are you up to talk to her?"

_Any other time than now,_ Sam thought.

"Later?" Sam slurred. Dean nodded.

"Whenever you want," Dean said. He had so many questions to ask Sam, but didn't know how or when to ask them.

Bobby came into the room.

"Dean, can we talk?" He asked.

"Sam has just woken up-" Dean started.

"Go," Sam said, closing his eyes once more. Dean stood up in defeat.

The hall looked too sterile, the entire hospital was, for Dean's taste. He knew that it was suppose to be clean but here he was afraid of walking on the floor as he might make them dirty. He hated hospitals. The only thing that made him happy was Bobby smile and him asking if they wanted to live with him permanently. Dean accepted gratefully as he hadn't thought about what on earth they would do when Sam got better. He returned the smile. For once, it seemed like things were going to work out. He looked back at Sam's room and his heart sank. Maybe not everything. He couldn't even begin to fathom how Sam felt right now, how he could have sustained so much shit and not talk about it properly. How his own father had done it. How he had attempted to take his own life. He started to feel nauseous and blocked the thought of him finding a limp Sam with an empty pill bottle. He walked back into the room with Bobby following him.

**Two weeks after**

"I understand that you want to leave, and things seem alright, so you can go tomorrow but not before. I'll get the papers," the nurse informed the room and left.

"Did you hear that Sammy, we can go soon," Dean said calmly to a waking Sam. Sam mumbled something and opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, but was pushed back down gingerly.

"Don't do any too strenuous, we don't want to risk you pulling your stitches out," Bobby said, entering the room with a couple of coffees for him and Dean.

Dean smiled and looked at Sam.

Questions were itching the roof of Dean's mouth, but he kept silent.

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! :D Happy New Year! 2015! Now, where are the highly anticipated hovercrafts? **


	19. Chapter 19

**Two weeks after**

Ines was relieved when she heard the news about Jessica being back, yet scared. She had no idea where her bravery came from when she confessed her feeling about Jess and was worried that Jessica would never talk to her again - never look at her again. With a heavy heart, she went to sleep. Hopefully Jessica would come to school Monday, but today was Friday and Ines couldn't bear not knowing what had happened to her or how she felt for an entire weekend when she lived so close by. She was positive, more than positive, that Jessica's parents were being overprotective to the point of being paranoid. Ines's parents were also worried at the moment and didn't let Ines go out late at night. She couldn't blame them. She just wanted to talk to Jess but didn't have the guts to pick up a damn phone. She tucked the sleeve of her sweater, a nervous habit, and took a shaky breath. She just wanted Jessica back. She just wanted things back to normal, maybe even before she told Jessica about her attraction. She wanted it back to Jessica having a secret crush on Sam. Sam. He was gone to, disappeared. A rumour had gone around town, that there was kidnapper who had both taken Jess and Sam, but apparently not, as Jessica had come back. But where was Sam? A senior, who hadn't known Sam, had spread another rumour saying that he saw a kid covered in blood and bruises being dragged into a black car by a guy who looked around nineteen. He also told he heard drunken yelling. People didn't, wouldn't, believe this as it just sounded too grotesque and outrageous. Surely Sam hadn't been beaten up by a drunk and then kidnapped.

**Fifteen days after**

"You ready to go?" Dean asked Sam who was sitting beside him in the Impala. Bobby had left yesterday to get the house ready for a frail Sam.

"Doctor's orders to keep him in a comfortable, clean environment," he said to Dean. Dean had nodded and thought back to the mess which was Bobby's house.

"Ready," Sam told Dean.

It was dusk and the road was dark. The ride was silent except from the music and short conversations. Dean didn't know how to act towards Sam as he didn't want to say anything to trigger or hurt him, and Sam didn't feel like talking much, being quite high on painkillers which Dean wasn't pleased with. He wondered how much Sam's liver could take. He nearly slammed the breaks when he unwillingly remembered Sam's attempt with the orange bottle not that long ago. He had told the doctor about it who checked if Sam was okay, which, luckily, it turned out he was, physically. He, the doctor, had prescribe him antidepressants and a physiatrist, but Dean didn't take the last offer as their money situation was tight and he wanted to leave so badly, and knew Sam did too.

Sam didn't quite notice the silence and before he knew it, they were back at Bobby's.

"John?" He asked Dean in a murmur.

"Bobby spoke to the cops, it's all fine Sam. Just relax. You'll be safe," Dean said with a one his rare comforting smiles that somehow always had a warm effect on Sam, a smile only Dean could pull. He stroked his brother's hair once more, a habit he had from when Sam was little and got scared.

They walked through the front door of Bobby's house. The usual smell of whisky was gone. It didn't feel much like Bobby's house anymore, but it still felt like home. Sam slumped onto the couch and closed his eyes. He was ready to drift off at any moment now, still being tired after the hospital visit and drugs.

"Um, Sam," Dean asked timidly. Sam opened an eye, getting a view of his brother. "You need to eat something."

"Okay," Sam said and stood up on wobbly and bruised legs.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Sam was tucked beneath the clean covers in the, now permanently his and Dean's, upstair bedroom. The bedroom door opened.

"Sammy, you awake?" Dean asked in a hushed tone.

"Mmm," Sam responded into his pillow. _Why does Dean always want to talk with me, about me?_ Sam thought.

"Uh, Sam I just need to know. I don't want to deadpan this, but are you _depressed_?" Dean asked in a low voice as though he was scared of the word - the answer. Sam took a deep breath.

_Please don't ask me this Dean, please_, Sam pleaded silently.

"Sammy?" Sam didn't need to see Dean's face to know how devastated he looked. The older brother walked towards Sam in a manner that made Sam feel vulnerable, weak, _pathetic_.

"Dean, I don't need," _I do, I really do_, "you swooning," _help me, I don't know what to do_, "over me," _I feel so worthless_, Sam said, the words contradicting with his racing thoughts. Dean sighed and sat by Sam's bed.

"Dean, you missed your bed by like three meters," Sam said.

"If you don't need me-"

_I DO! SO MUCH, YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!_

"-it's fine. Just tell me what's going on. Please," Dean said.

Sam nodded.

"What is that a yes for?" Dean asked with a voice sounding like he was dangerously close to a wild animal.

"Sad," Sam muttered. He couldn't do this right now, it was too overwhelming, but he had to. He needed, desperate needed, Dean's help. It was like he couldn't be happy although how hard he tried. He knew that Dean would break down if he pulled any self-harming tricks again. Self-harm. His wrist itched at the thought and he slowly, unintentionally, began scratching a scar. As soon as he began, he felt another hand on his his wrist, pulling it away. _Dean's_. Dean shook his head at Sam. He remembered, and didn't want to, the conversation with the nurse when she found the scars.

**Two weeks after**

_"Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer?" The nurse voiced in a clear tone. "I'd like to discuss a few things with you," she said - commanded._

_"Okay, sure," Dean said, taking a gulp._

_"We found numerous bruises and scars on Sam, as expected of course due to certain… events," her voice trailed a little off. She coughed and tried to continue professionally. "But some of the scars, they look self-inflicted. Am I wrong in my assumption?"_

_"No," Dean answered bitterly._

_"And, as you told me before, he had attempted to take his own life, and therefore this hospital would like to offer a… counselor," she said, taking caution with every word. Dean didn't look like a person who like the word "psychiatrist" when is involved his brother._

_"Um, thanks but I think we've got this covered," Bobby said calmly, bringing a hand around Dean's shoulder. They couldn't let Sam talk to a psychiatrist, they would force him to bring up his life, and thus forcing him to bring up hunting. Hunting. Only a few would like the sound of that, especially when it involved a depressed teen. _

**Fifteen days after**

The first questions that appeared in Dean's mind was "why?", but it was superfluous. Sam had so many, too many, reasons. But now John was gone. Out of sight, although not out of mind.

Sam yawned.

"Okay Sammy, we'll cheer you up tomorrow," Dean said, brushing Sam's hair back. Sam was already asleep.

**Sixteen days after**

Sam didn't bother getting out of bed. He lay curled on his side, staring into the wall. He was very awake, but didn't feel up to do something, anything. He wanted to lie in the bed all day, but he didn't. He didn't know what he felt like doing. He wasn't motivated to get out of bed, to eat breakfast, hell, even going to the bathroom seemed like an impossible task. His thin skin on his arms, hips, knees, started prickling. He did the best to ignoring as he didn't want Dean to add more to his worries. He had already been enough of a burden to the family.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean opened the door.

"Sam? It's one thirty, you should get up while it's still light out," Dean said.

"Okay," Sam said, not seeing a point in arguing, not seeing a point in anything. Dean smiled and left the room so that Sam could change.

Sam pulled a thick shirt on as it could have started snowing at any moment. It was starting to get seriously cold. He quickly covered the white scars and headed downstairs.

"Hey Bobby," he said in a casual manner, when he saw the older man sitting on the couch in the living room.

"Hi Sam, hungry?" He asked.

"Sure."

"Help yourself," he said, gesturing towards the kitchen. Sam nodded a thanks. He went to the kitchen although he didn't want to eat, he just went to make the others pleased. He was feeling worse and worse.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

It was three o'clock and it was snowing heavily. Dean and Sam had just got outside when the first snow started to hit.

"It's late this year," Dean commented as it was already December. Sam nodded with an expressionless face.

They started walking, hands digging further into their pockets even though they had gloves on.

"When did it become so cold?" Dean asked rhetorically. Sam shrugged. Dean looked at him.

_I need to cheer him up, _he thought determinedly to himself.

"Hey, remember that time around the time you were twelve and dad left town, and we went for a walk in, where was it, somewhere in West Virginia, even though he told us not to, and we met that couple…" Dean said thinking back. He continued talking, and even though Sam wanted to listen, it was as though his brain switched off and Dean was just white noise cluttered by his thoughts.

"_You bastard!" John yelled. Sam flinched, dropping his book._

"-and then they kept on asking who were laughing, when we were literally standing around the corner and couldn't control our laughter," Dean ended with a laugh. Sam forced a grin to please his brother. Dean couldn't read him like a book though.

The snow thundered down and they went back into the house. Sam forced his gloves off which seemed frozen on his skin after the bitting cold. Bobby made hot drinks for them.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

"Can I use the phone upstairs?" Sam asked timidly.

"Of course, there's no need to ask," Bobby answered with a smile. Sam skipped up the stairs and dialed Jessica's number. He made sure no one would hear him when he spoke.

"It's Sam," Sam said when the phone was answered by a sweet voice. It was silent for a moment. Jessica took a breath of relief.

"Sam, hi. How are you?" She asked.

"Better," Sam answered. "You?"

"Good - great now that you're calling," she answered and Sam couldn't help but blush, especially when he heard her smile. She made him feel so fucking good, that why what was going to happen hurt so damn much.

"Jess. I like you, I really really really really do," Sam said and couldn't emphasize how much he _really_ liked her. "I mean, I…"

"Sam?"

"I'm not returning to the school," Sam said. Jess was silent.

"I expected that," she answered in a disappointed voice that she couldn't hide.

"So you probably know what I'm saying," Sam said, his heavy heart matching Jessica's on the other end of the line.

"Sam, please," Jess pleaded.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispered.

"Don't be, ever. Sam, after all you've been through…"

She heard a choked sob from the other end.

"I could visit," Jess said with tears streaming down her own face.

"Sorry."

"Sam…"

"I'm so fucking sorry you had to meet me, I'm a mess," Sam sobbed and hung up the phone.

_Stupid fucking teenage 'love'_, Sam thought while kicking the wall. _I did love her_.

He thundered into his room, hoping that the others wouldn't hear it, but the TV was on loudly. He fell on his bed. He felt exhausted even after the medication had worn off. He felt pain where the stitches were, but was afraid of what would happen if he took some painkillers. What if he saw the bottle and-

He stood up.

_I could move the pain_, he thought.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

"Bobby," Dean said when there were commercials.

"Yeah?" Bobby asked, taking another sip of his beer.

"Sam. He's so sad."

"I know." The answer was grave.

"I can't make him happy, anything I say, do… It's like he only smiles to cover up everything else."

Bobby sighed.

"Dean. Depression isn't a switch you can can flip on and off. Give it time."

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

The bathroom was small. Sam looked into the mirror thinking of how badly he needed a haircut.

_Don't_.

He opened the cabinet.

_No._

It was lying on the top shelf, but with how much Sam had grown recently, he could easily reach.

The blade felt cool in his hand.

Sam gasped when he realized what he was doing. It was as though his thoughts wouldn't connect with his movements.

He managed to drop the blade.

It landed heavily on the bathroom tile.

Sam leaned against the wall and slid down.

The blade lay on the floor beside him.

"It can't do anything if I don't want it to," Sam murmured to himself.

It continued lying there.

Sam scrambled further into the corner of the room.

It was as though it stared up at him.

_I failed everyone_. _Bobby, Dean, Jess..._

The blade screamed, although it didn't, only in Sam's mind.

_It's my fault. Jess hates me now, Bobby's annoyed, Dean thinks I'm a burden. _

The blade still lay there threateningly.

**A/N: Thanks for reading and for reviewing! Feedback is amazing, or even just saying hi totally makes my day. :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Seventeen days after**

Sam didn't come to school Monday, as expected. The teachers didn't know anything about where he was or how he was doing, and didn't even seem to care as Sam, no matter how bright he was, to them, just another student. That was one of the reason Jessica was so extra pissed at them. They really didn't give a shit about the nicest guy, hell person, she had ever had the pleasure to meet, yet alone kiss.

Sam wasn't just another student. He had gone through hell.

Jessica had spent most of her day, and her entire weekend, daydreaming. It was absurd things she dreamed of. She hoped for scenarios like accidentally bumping into him. She imagined the conversations they would have, what he'd tell her, what she'd tell him. She and him could talk about _anything_ and never have an awkward pause. They could also sit in silence, which they did before Sam left, where Jess decided to sit beside him in the classroom. They had passed notes to each other and Jessica had seen how neat his handwriting was. It was so fragile and nice, like him.

Jessica couldn't do anything but worry about Sam. She knew why he broke up with her, but it still hurt like hell. She knew that there was a slim chance that they would ever see each other again, but she still hoped that he would stand around the next corner and give her that smile that made everything bad go away.

_Please be around the corner_, Jess hoped. _That would be fucking awesome_.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

It was during the ads that Dean decided to get up and get another drink, thinking everything was fine. Bobby had gone out to get some groceries for them. He walked over to the kitchen when he noticed that Sam's antidepressants were on the counter. He grabbed the orange bottle labeled "WINCHESTER, Sam," and shook his head at the horrible experience with the other bottle. He hadn't forgotten that and couldn't ever. With the pills grasped tightly in his sweaty palm, he went upstairs to put them by Sam's bed.

Up the stairs, to the left, to the left again - Sam's bed was empty. Dean felt the sheets which were too cold for his likings. He thought that Sam's plan was to stay in bed all day, but apparently not. Feeling the cold bedsheets, Dean knew that he had been gone for a long time.

"Sam?" Dean called, stepping out of the room after placing the bottle on the nightstand.

No response.

"Sam?" Dean called again with a little more worry in his voice. _Damn it Sam, where are you? _Dean thought, knowing, more like hoping, that Sam would have told him if he had gone out.

Sam heard Dean call his name faintly but didn't react upon it.

Dean noticed the yellow light beneath the door to the bathroom. He walked closer to the door and knocked.

"Sam, you in there?" He asked concerned. Another heavy thump on the door. Sam flinched. He tried to say something but his throat was all dry and clammy at once. He tried to get the blade away, but his legs felt like twigs ready to break under him at any moment and his arms were too shaky to do anything.

"Sammy?" Dean asked once more, growing more anxious at the second.

Sam drew a shaking breath. He trembled in the corner of the bathroom, feeling claustrophobic. It was as though the blade filled the entire room. Sam tried to lift his eyes from it, but it was as though it had glued itself to his sight. The edges around his eyes became blurry.

"Sammy?" Dean asked. Sam sat in a trance. "Hey dude, answer me!" Dean demanded, his voice filled with fear.

_Why can't I answer him?_ Sam thought. He continued staring at the spot on the floor were the shiny luring blade rested.

Without any warning, or maybe there was Sam just didn't hear, Dean knocked the door off it's hinges.

"SAMMY!" He exclaimed loudly. He fell by his brother's tense side, swept the blade away, and grabbed Sam's wrist.

White scars but no blood.

Relief rushed through him.

No blood.

No new cuts.

Dean looked at Sam with devastated eyes for having the blade out. Sam could tell he blamed himself, the last thing he wanted Dean to do.

_This is so much worse than the last time_, Sam thought, thinking back to the infamous moment in the motel room with the song playing softly on the radio. At least there he had been unconscious when Dean had found him, and didn't have to see his brother's heart wrenching face.

Sam sort of met Dean's eyes at last, but they drifted away unfocused. Dean hadn't said anything other than repeat his brother's name for the last minute, as he was speechless. Sam tried to say something, but couldn't get the right - any - words out.

_What is happening to me?_

Sam sat on the floor limply, before managing turning his eyes towards Dean. He couldn't bare to see his brother's face expression.

"What were you thinking?" Dean asked, not hiding his panicked voice.

_I wasn't_, Sam thought but couldn't say.

"Are you even there?" Dean asked, shaking his brother again.

"Didn't…" Sam finally managed to croak. Like the incident with John, he held his tears back. Dean let one slip.

"I know," Dean said. They had gone through so much already, he would have sold his soul to see Sam happy again, preferably radiating with joy.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice more steady than before. "I don't know what to do," his voice cracked into the most innocent tone Dean had heard in ages. Dean wanted to squeeze his brother tight against his chest, but didn't want to do anything that might scare him. Instead, his heart crushed.

"Hey, we'll figure it out, okay?"

Sam nodded.

Dean couldn't resist anymore and brought Sam into a tight hug. Sam winced first at the sudden movement, but brought his shaky arms lightly around his brother's back in return.

"Stay strong, Sammy," Dean whispered. He knew how close Sam had been to drawing the blade across his skin.

_**SPN-SPN-SPN**_

Dean was angry, but not at Sam. Never at Sam. He was livid at John and couldn't help blame himself.

Dean was pacing the kitchen and Sam was shakily sitting by the kitchen table. He still hadn't let a tear fall because he didn't see the point. He didn't want to feel sorry for himself either, which he shouldn't as he just resisted a tempting a sick form of relief. Sam looked up at Dean who continued pacing. Sam drew a breath.

_Dean is mad at me, _he thought wrongfully.

A minute later, Bobby came through the door brushing the snow off his coat.

"Who died?" He asked when he sensed the atmosphere of the room, but then stopped and regretted his words. Joking about that wasn't something to do in their line of business and in their situation.

He cleared his throat.

"What have you guys been up to?" Bobby asked, offering friendly conversation.

Seeing the look on the brothers' faces, he knew it was a bad question.

"I'm going out to the garage," Bobby said, avoiding further badly timed words and giving the boys space to discuss whatever was going on between them. "Car trouble," he added.

The door clicked and his footsteps became softer until they were gone.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. He had wanted to say the words a thousand times since they had come down the stairs, but couldn't form the words.

Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes wide.

"For what Sammy? None, _none_," he emphasized as strongly as possible, "of this shit is your fault Sam. _None_."

Sam smiled feebly. Dean was still curious about a few things.

"Sam, why did you to John that night?"

Tears were forming in Sam's eyes.

_Thought I was talking to a wall_, Dean thought, not that he enjoyed seeing his brother cry but it was better than having his emotions pent up.

His stomach crawled into itself when he realized that Sam only cried when John was brought up.

"I-I…"

His lip quivered.

Dean walked over to him. He put an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, Sammy, if you don't want to answer, fine. Just promise you won't pull something like that again. Can you promise that?"

Sam nodded and stared at the ground.

_I wanted to kill John. I wanted to die. _He said mutely.

"Do you want to watch TV or some shit?" Dean asked with a smile.

"Sure," Sam said, standing up from the chair. He was starting to feel his legs again, even though they still trembled slightly beneath him.

From walking into the bathroom to sitting in the kitchen, had all seemed so surreal.

Dean and Sam sat down on the couch.

"Sam, did you call Jess?" Dean asked casually.

"Yes," Sam said, and hearing his tone, Dean dropped the conversation.

_She was too good for me,_ Sam thought. S_he was the best _- he looked at Dean - _one of the best things in my life, even if I only knew her for a short amount of time. For all I know, she could be an axe murderer. _

_No._

_She's like a light at the end of a tunnel._

**A/N: Hi! This story is coming to an end soon, with only a few chapters to go or less, and I was wondering whether I had left any loose ends I've missed. Could you please tell me if I have? Thanks. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Nineteen days after**

John reeked of fear and sweat. He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he glanced down at his smelly clothes. He had refused taking a shower since he had arrived. The authorities had forced him to take a shower when he first arrived, to get rid of the blood, both his and Sam's blood. The authorities had allowed him to take a shower alone at first, but now he had to do it with other people, which he refused. Sure, there were a few he could take on in a fight in the prison, but some were way buffer and straight up scary.

_"You're a coward Sam!"_ The thought flashed through John's mind. Was he starting to feel gui-

_No, no, no. He deserved it,_ John thought, feeling a bit better about himself.

It was yesterday he arrived to this dump and he hated it from the moment he stepped in. Luckily, for him, he was going to yet another court meeting that afternoon, so he didn't have to stay there for that long until his next outing.

I'm a fucking dog.

A bitch.

_"YOU'RE A FUCKING BITCH, SAMMY!" He threw a bottle in his son's direction. It shattered on the wall over his head, shards flew everywhere and some down Sam's shirt. He should have been happy when Sam didn't whine about it, but he just didn't feel pleased, accomplished_.

John flinched.

_He was a bitch. Didn't stop whining._ He thought sternly.

**Twenty days after**

Dean's voice was raw.

John's lawyer was standing outside the door, leaning up the wall so that he could hear the conversation.

"John." No affection, no feelings other than pure anger.

"Dean," John voiced back in a more uplifting voice than his son's - which wasn't hard.

"Why?" Dean asked, jumping straight to the mind throbbing question. He hadn't liked (which was an understatement) Sam's answer. Most of all, he feared that it was true in the sense that it was what John made Sam believe.

**Seventeen days after**

"Sam, can I ask you another question?" Dean asked uncertainly. Questions were just pouring out here and there.

"Do I have a choice?" Sam answered flat.

"No," Dean grinned. His smile faded. "Do you know why John did… what he did?"

Sam swallowed. Again with the tears balancing on his eyelids.

"I'm a coward, I'm a bitch, I'm worthless, I'm a nuisance, I'm a burden, I've ruined all your lives, I killed mum - I'm a killer. I'm weak, I can't ever do anything right. I'm basically a demon," Sam answered coldly, staring out the window.

_Why won't the saliva slip down?_ Dean thought, falling to swallow yet again.

"Sam, you know it's not true."

"I know you don't want to believe it, but it is" Sam stated.

"Hey-"

"Some of it is," Sam corrected.

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's childish manner.

"Take your medicine, I don't want to hear that nonsense ever again. Understood?"

Sam looked at his brother with bloodshot eyes.

"Yes, I forgot, that solves everything." Again with the cold manner.

Dean couldn't take it anymore. It was as though his brain couldn't fathom why Sam just couldn't become better, return to his old _old_ self.

"Fuck you," Dean said with unintentional venom in his voice, immediately regretting it. He just couldn't bear Sam being snarky at the moment.

Sam stood up and went to his room. Dean would have stopped him, but it was his turn to be stump.

_What have I done?_

**Twenty days after**

John sighed. Why was 'why' such a heavy question?

"Dean, I need to talk to you about another situation-"

"No. No way. Uh-uh," Dean said, using hand movements to emphasize.

"If I answer, will you do me a favour?"

"No way, I don't do favours for sick bastards."

"Sam killed Mary."

"HE WAS AN INFANT! You can't honestly blame a six month old for a fucking fire!"

"Keep your voice down, Dean," John commanded, knowing that his lawyer would eavesdrop. He didn't need him to listen, he needed Dean to listen. He needed to get out. Dean wanted to protest, but knew the bastard was right, for once.

"He nearly gets us killed on hunts," John said calmly.

"No, it's your fault John. You should have done or let him have done better research. You also shouldn't expected that much from a _teen_. You _also _should have been a better father and _not fucking abuse him._"

**Seventeen days after**

_What the hell have I done?_ Dean repeated to himself.

It took a good minute for Dean to process what he just had spat at Sam. He still couldn't believe it, but now was not a time to punish himself. He needed to talk to Sam, straighten things out.

The stairs seemed longer than usual, but Dean finally made it to the top. He tried the doorknob to their room, but it didn't work.

_Great._

"Sam!" He pounded on the door. As suspected, there was no response, but Dean still felt nervous, with the things going on in Sam's head, he couldn't help but worry. He knew that it was bad, he knew that he should be able to trust Sam.

"Sammy!"

Sam heard the yelling. He dug further into his duvet. He knew that the chair he had set up against the door handle wouldn't hold for much longer-

'_CRASH_'

Sam squeezed his eyes tightly. He heard Dean's footsteps. He heaved his duvet further up, covering his head.

_Why is everyone so mad at me?_ Sam continuously thought wrongfully. He couldn't handle more people being mad at him at the moment.

"Sam," Dean coaxed. Sam opened an eye and looked at his brother.

_Why isn't he angry?_

"I'm not angry, Sammy."

It was as though Dean could read his thoughts.

_Maybe he can,_ Sam thought. _He does everything right, maybe that's the reason. Come on Sam think something inappropriate!_

_Penis,_ was sadly the first thing he could think of.

Dean continued to watch him remorsefully and didn't react the slightest to the mention of genital.

_He can't read minds, worth a shot though,_ Sam thought.

_Why is Dean looking so sad?_

"Actually, I've never been," Dean continued from his earlier statement with not being angry with Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows. Dean nodded and understood why Sam was puzzled. "Annoyed and slightly pissed isn't angry, dude," Dean said.

"Why aren't you? I fuck everything up, I can't even have a normal conversation," Sam said. Dean had been so fragile around him lately, it was driving him mad.

"I'm not angry, and this is going to sound cheesy - just warning you. I'm proud of you."

Sam stared directly into Dean's eyes, something he hadn't been able to do in a while.

They were green, pleasant, hopeful.

"Why?"

"To sustain all you've been through? To have all that shit happen to you, when it wasn't your fault? Dude, you're the strongest person I've ever known, and I know a fair share of strong people. None of them could have gone through what you have and still be alive. Seriously Sam, how can you think you're weak if you've been able to go through hell? You have an envious amount of willpower! And don't tell me you haven't, you didn't cut yourself in there," he pointed towards the bathroom. "Sammy, for fucks sake. I'm proud of you - I'm proud of myself for being your brother. Damn it, Sam, if you weren't here I… I can't even bring myself to think about it," he shuddered. "I love you, man."

Sam felt overwhelmed, but in a good way. He couldn't remember the last time Dean, if he ever had done it went on a rant without quoting something along the way. He also sounded like he actually meant it, which was the best part.

Sam rose from his bed and pulled Dean into a tight hug. He hiccupped. Dean laughed out of joy.

"I love you, too," Sam mumbled and pulled away.

For the first time in a hell of a long time, Dean took a good thorough look at his sibling where it wasn't just his injuries.

"Damn Sam, you're going to be taller than me," Dean said with awe in his voice. He had only just noticed how fast Sam's grow spurt had gone. His younger brother was usually hunched over but now he held a great posture and held a genuine - small but they could fix that - smile.

Dean beamed proudly.

**A/N: Thanks for reading and for your reviews, guys! Some of you mentioned John, who honestly I'd almost forgotten about, so thanks for bringing him up! :)**

**Yay for fluff!**


	22. Chapter 22

**I know I haven't uploaded in a while (sorry about that), but I've had some computer trouble on top of school, being confused, school, not knowing where this story is going, parties, school... *sigh* Well, here's the next chapter!**

Sam was fourteen when Dean and him thought his father had died during a hunt.

The monster had come from behind and was charging towards Dean. Dean, who hadn't noticed it, didn't move. Instead he stared ahead of him, watching out for the creature. Soon, the monster leaped upon his back, ready to dig its claws into the back of the eighteen year old. Sam hadn't realized the creature and had done nothing but standing at his post a few trees away. He remembered his father strict tone saying something along the lines of "_and if you even _dare _complaining or getting distracting, it won't be this monster who kills you"_. Sam shuddered at his father's hushed - so that Dean didn't hear him - and absolutely furious voice.

Sam heard a roar behind him; John's yell.

He pulled the gun ready as a reflex when he saw Dean shooting the creature and his father sitting limply on the ground by a tree. Sam looked up at the tree and saw a trickle of blood dripping down the bark.

The monster hit Dean with a brute amount of force, before he could stab the monster with the silver dagger.

At this moment, Sam was running towards him with a speed that made his legs feel as though the weren't even touching the forest floor. He flew himself towards the creature and aimed for the heart with his own silver knife.

_Crap_, he missed with an inch. The monster shrieked loudly at the shock of the speed of the unexpected boy. This was when Dean thrust his own knife an inch to the left of where Sam had dug his knife in, and the creature was dead.

Dean gasped.

"Good job, Sam," he said with a grin as Sam extended his hand to help Dean up.

"You're the one who killed it," Sam said, his low-confidence shining once again. Dean huffed.

"Dude, you practically did all the work with the surprise stabbing. Also, I probably wouldn't have made it if dad hadn't jumped up in time to save me," Dean said and looked over to where he thought his father would stand and look down, probably kick, the vicious creature. Dean's face drained of colour. Yes, his father was where he expected him to be, but he wasn't standing. He was slumped in an awkward position by the tree that Sam noticed the blood on. The blood had trickled down all the way to John's head - the place where the blood had come out the first place.

"No, nononono," Dean gasped as he rushed to his father's limp side. Sam gazed at his brother attending his father.

"Sam, what are you doing staring there? Get the first-aid kit, now!" Dean called urgently, fumbling his fingers towards John's neck to find a pulse.

_Is he dead? _Sam thought with no emotion. He didn't have the slightest clue know how to react.

Sam didn't react until Dean's second "_Now!_". He snapped out of his daze and rushed towards the car reluctantly, and hated himself for it. Sure, he hated John, with all his heart, but did he really want him to die? Did he really want the person who had raised him, to die? No, wait. John hadn't been the one to raise him, _Dean_ had.

Anger boiled up inside Sam as he found the aid kit. He grabbed it tightly and made his way back to where John and Dean were. Dean was bent over John's unconscious body with watery eyes.

"Sam hurry!" Dean boomed from beside his broken father. Sam ran towards them, hatefully regretting every step.

_No, I hate him but I don't want him to die_, Sam thought while he ran. _It's him or me though. _

Sam didn't know what he regretted. Him helping John? Him not wanting to help John? Making John hate him?

Dean snatched the kit from Sam's hand as soon that he could reach it.

"Is he alive?" Sam spoke quietly. Dean gave him a dark, unforgettable stare.

"Of course he is Sam. He has to be."

Sam nodded and swallowed. He stared at John's limp body. He looked weak and vulnerable. Sam, for once, felt safe.

"Are you just going to fucking stand there?" Dean voiced aggressively at Sam. "HELP HIM!" He urged.

Sam nodded and began assessing the wounds and stopped the bleeding.

He was still alive, just unconscious.

Sam didn't have a slightest clue how to feel. How could he? He drogue his father's limp body back to the Impala together with Dean, resisting the urge to "accidentally" bump him into something.

When John woke up in the familiar motel room six hours later with a headache from hell, he turned his head to Sam.

"Should've been you," he said painfully through gritted teeth before Dean walked into the room, happy to see his father up.

Sam was dumbfounded.

**Twenty days after**

John stared at his eldest son. After his outburst - well hushed words as he couldn't say anything too loudly - Dean was still red in his face. John still wondered whether his lawyer had heard him and hoped he hadn't. He didn't know why he didn't was the lawyer to hear it as she had to keep silent, but he was starting to feel something.

_Embarrassment? Guilt? __It is my fault- no, no, no, NO!_ John argued to himself in his head.

"You're a robot, John!" Dean practically yelled, which was followed by a hush from John.

"Dean-" John warned him again, glancing towards the door. Dean spoke in a hushed voice filled with venom.

"Do you know the damage you've done? Sam tried to-" Dean stopped and took a breath. _No_. He couldn't tell John that Sam had been, hopefully still wasn't, suicidal. He couldn't let John win. He still stuck to another terrible truth. "-cut himself," he finished.

John nodded gravely.

_I know. _He thought, but didn't say to Dean. The outcome would be horrifying if Dean found out that John had even_ encouraged_ Sam so cut himself.

"Dean-"

"What!" Dean snapped.

"I said that I was sorry. I need a favour," John spoke seriously. Dean laughed, loudly, unhumorously and hatefully, before slamming his fist into the table.

"You must be FUCKING kidding me," he growled loudly.

"I know it was a mistake," John said, his head low, trying to get sympathy. Dean ignored it.

_Pathetic_, he thought. _Where's the great John Winchester, the super-hero?_

"Mistake? You've been abusing him for _four fucking years_! I don't even know how Sam can even function! How he didn't give up…" Dean drained his words with a cough.

John got straight to the point.

"I need you to drop the charges."

Dean stopped and stared into his father's pathetic eyes.

_Why didn't I just leave him in the woods to die? _Dean thought, thinking back to when he thought John had been killed by the monster. He remembered how Sam just had stood there in what Dean thought was shock. He had yelled at him to help, but now he knew why he just stood there - Sam considered just leaving John there to die. Instead, Dean had forced him to help John out, stop his bleeding and carry him to the car. Sam could've gotten out that night. Dean remembered how John had thrown himself in front of Dean and taken the monster on himself, how Dean had admired him afterwards and how he couldn't have asked for a better dad. Dean knew that he would never have done the same for Sam.

Dean shook his head, erasing his thoughts.

"You know what," Dean spat through clenched teeth. John looked up at him with hope. "You can go fuck yourself and your charges."

With that, Dean stood up and walked towards the door.

"I SAID I'M SORRY!" John yelled desperately behind him.

"YOU DESERVE THIS, DICKHEAD!," Dean yelled, not caring about the lawyer, not caring about anything actually, but Sam. He had to get out of the room before he would punch John so hard that it would knock him out cold.

**Three weeks after**

Jessica rubbed her arm. The fading bruises from John's grip still hurt. She wondered if she had ever meet anyone that strong before. She cringed at that thought and what Sam had been through with that monster. Jessica, like any other sane person, or so she believed didn't believe in such things as monsters that hide in closets or whatever, but she did believe in human monsters, and John was one without a doubt. Her mind flashed to when a frail Sam was lying on the couch in Bobby's living room, blood flowing out of the gash on his stomach and with a painful expression on his face that he had, even though she had been sure that he wasn't awake. Maybe he was, it was all so blurry as everything just went so fucking fast. She remembered his shattered voice on the phone when he told her that they wouldn't meet again.

_Don't lie to yourself_, Jess thought. _He broke-up with you. _

Jessica sighed deeply. _Should I just forget him?_

Today was the last day of school before the Christmas break. She had only arrived at school Wednesday for the first time since the horrible incident, and everything was so awkward. Everyone was so cautious around her, and most weren't even speaking to her as they were afraid of triggering something. No one even asked what happened. Ines was keeping her distance. At least all the teachers gave her good marks, which she had sort of liked, even though they'd done it out of pity.

Jessica lay back onto her bed. She couldn't face the Christmas morning going on downstairs. She thought about what Sam was doing this-

_No, don't think about him. I'll never see him again so why bother linger in the past? But what if he came back_, she thought desperately but then wanted to hit herself because of her stupidity. What were the odds that they would ever meet again?

_I should probably just completely give up on Sam_, Jessica thought. She thought of the night John spoke to her at the bus stop, the aftermath, and Ines's confession earlier.

She shook her head in self-frustration by remembering the memories.

_So much shit has happened to Sam. Why was everyone so ignorant?_ Jessica thought with a tinge of guilt.

_Fucking high school._

She needed to get her mind off all the shit that had happened.

She tried to think about other things: Sam, Sam, Sam, Ines, Sam, Ines...

She considered it. Maybe she did swing both ways…

**A/N: I think the next chapter is the last/second-last one (I don't really know, maybe there's more?), but I really don't know how to end it. Again, are there any loose ends? Thanks. :) **

** Also, I'm really confused where I'm going with this story, so sorry if some parts seem dry or not well thought through. I'll try to do my best and hope that I'll get an epiphany.**

**I should really have a story plan by now... **


	23. Chapter 23

**Twenty-five days after**

Sam pushed himself up on the elbow, nodding at his own achievement.

_Improvement_, he praised himself.

He looked around the bedroom. It had been ages since Dean had unpacked their duffle, put their things in the closet, called this place home, but it was only now Sam truly felt like it was home, like he belonged in this house, liked he belonged somewhere.

Much like the opposite of Jess.

**Three weeks after**

Christmas day was today. Sam had never really been into christmas like the other kids he had known. They got up extra early every christmas out of excitement, which Sam didn't get. Christmas was a holiday, a time to sleep in. He remembered that Christmas where Dean just had got his license and drove Sam to their favourite dinner while his father was obsessed in some case with ghouls.

That had been Sam's favourite christmas.

He tried to remember a christmas where John had actually been there and not caught up in some case but failed. His father avoided him on family holidays, much like other times, but Sam was happy about it. Sure, Dean was grumpy all morning, but later in the day, him and Sam would always find something to do. He remembered that time they visited Bobby when Sam was eight and Dean was twelve. Bobby sort of had a christmas tree that he had brought in from the woods. Really it was just a tree as he didn't have any decorations. John, as usual, used the excuse "I hate christmas" to avoid them, and they all sat in Bobby's living room. It had been a little awkward as Bobby and John and Dean had had a discussion earlier, about John, but later the day was great.

That had been Sam's second favourite christmas.

**_SPN-SPN-SPN_**

Jessica woke up at ten. She brushed her hair, plumped her toothbrush in her mouth, pulled a sweater on and went downstairs. She knew that she was supposed to eat something, but she just wasn't hungry lately. It had been about a week since she returned home, but she didn't feel like she belonged there. Of course she knew that she was supposed to feel at home here, but there was just something unsettling. She actually didn't know any place that felt like home. Her parents thought she was being distant - depressed. They didn't know about her worry for Sam, because she hadn't told them about his shitty life. She had mentioned his name, and now her parents thought that this was all about a guy, other than getting kidnapped that is.

But no, it wasn't. Because Jessica was her own person whose happiness didn't depend on another person. She was just so fucking concerned and felt like crying, and sometimes did, when she thought John placing, even brushing, a hand on Sam. That thought was nauseating.

**Twenty-three days after**

"Sam, you up?" Dean called from the ground floor, having just arrived back from a recent, and in Sam's opinion, well deserved hunt. Sam knew how Dean enjoyed hunting the bastards of the night and had urged him to go. Dean had spent the night at a motel and desperately wanted a hot shower as the shower in motel he had stayed in, only sprayed cold water.

"M'wake," Sam mumbled, while pulling a hoodie over his bed-hair. He managed to stay away from the mirror in the room as usual, not wanting to see his scars. He never wanted to see them. He just wanted to forget it, to forget everything.

**January the 6th**

It was the first day back at school after the Christmas break, and Jessica looked fierce. Her hair fell loosely beneath her shoulders. Her blue eyes were fixed on the girl at the end of the hallway.

Ines stood by her locker. The final class had just rung out and people were bustling towards the door. Soon, Ines was the only one, apart from Jessica, standing in the hallway. Ines sighed, slamming her locker shut like she was in some cliché high school movie. She turned and stared at the blue eyed girl walking swiftly and confidently in her direction. It was breathtaking.

"Hi Jess," Ines said, in a low voice. They hadn't had a conversation since Jessica returned. Ines was about to stifle an awkward cough, when the most unexpected thing happened.

Jessica leaned towards Ines, about to press her lips against hers. She looked up, gazing her eye's into Ines, who nodded. Jessica opened her mouth slightly, and softly yet passionately, pressed them to Ines's. Ines raised her arms and wrapped them around Jessica's shoulders. Jessica held Ines's waist against hers, just like Sam had done with her.

Ines let her tongue slightly into Jessica's, who returned it.

_"Sam,"_ Jessica was about to whisper, but held her tongue back. Sam was all she could think of, all she could imagine.

Jessica squeezed her eyes tightly together, trying to block out the image of Sam.

Jessica felt like shit. The kiss was nice, but all she could think about was another person.

_Fuck it, I need to forget,_ Jessica said to herself. _I do like Ines,_ she thought, mainly so that it didn't feel like she was using her just to get over Sam.

_I'm such a jerk,_ Jessica beat herself up.

**December 27th - Twenty-four days after**

Sam was sitting on the couch and Bobby couldn't keep his eyes off him. Sam felt self-conscious and the feeling of needing to move was overpowering. He stood up from the couch. He knew that he should have been comfortable, especially at Bobby's, but there was just something in the back of his mind telling him that he should move around, get his mind off everything.

"You look better," Bobby spoke up, as he watched Sam grab his jacket. Sam nodded.

"I am," he said, without lying. He did feel better but he knew that he still needed time. He pushed his jacket on.

"Is it okay if I go for a walk?" Sam asked politely.

"Sam, why would you even ask that? Of course you can go," Bobby said in a happy yet confused tone, until he thought about why Sam asked. Dean would never ask, probably just mention that he was going to go out quickly, unless he snuck out, and if that was the situation, he wouldn't say a word. But then again, Dean hadn't been through the same hell as Sam had. Bobby shivered. He still couldn't stand the thought of John hurting Sam. And he had done it for such a long time. He watched as Sam smiled, and left.

_I should have known_, Bobby thought, angry at himself. I_ should've noticed that something was dreadfully wrong between John and him_. Bobby bore heavy guilt on his shoulders. _I should have been with him, together with Dean_.

Dean came down the stairs at that very moment.

"Hey Bobby, where's Sam?" he asked.

"Went for a walk," Bobby answered.

"What?" Dean asked, as though Bobby spoke an alien language.

"A walk. It's a thing you do when you want fresh air and exercise," Bobby remarked.

"Alone?"

"Obviously," Bobby answered, but then noticed Dean biting his lip in worry.

"Stop assuming the worst, Dean. Trust your brother," Bobby said calmly. Dean shook his head.

"I should have assumed the worst from the start. I should have noticed this ages ago. I'm so stupid," he said, nearly weeped, while burying his head in his hands. Bobby looked at the broken man who stood before him. His heart ached. He hadn't thought how this was for Dean. For Dean to see his beloved little brother getting hurt, was unimaginable… Yet it had happened.

Dean lifted his head.

"How can I trust him Bobby? How do I know that he won't cut again - give up again?" His voice broke at the end.

"Dean, that attitude won't help," Bobby grumbled, although he could see the point of Dean's comment clearly.

"John said that I should never to make assumptions," Dean said. Bobby's face turned white. Dean hadn't brought up John in quite a while now and it was first now, Bobby could see the damage the bastard had inflicted upon the young man. The young man who grew up too fast.

"Dean…" Bobby said comfortably, but then had nothing more to add. He knew anything he would say, would be utterly useless. Sure, he could yell on the top of his voice: _"SCREW JOHN FUCKING_ WINCHESTER!", but what good would that do? Dean knew John was a bastard, Bobby knew it too, Sam knew it too well. Hell, anyone who had ever met John knew what a prick he was. Bobby shook his head. He repeated his earlier though, _I should have realized Sam's situation earlier._ "Dean…" Bobby repeated.

"How is Sammy even keeping it together?" Dean ask, his voice re-broken. Sam hadn't kept it together at the end, but how could he have sustained all those years at John's hands?

"I don't know Dean," Bobby said, while shaking his head. "How are you keeping it together?" Bobby asked, generally concerned about the young man's well being. Dean shrugged.

"Better than Sam," he said. "Damn it, this is not about me, Bobby. I have to take care of Sam."

"And I have to take care of the both of you," Bobby replied calmly. "Dean, I need to know, how are you doing?"

Dean huffed. He thought about opening up to Bobby, but that was just show how damaged he was. He literally shivered. He remembered finding Sam on the motel room floor. He remembered finding him in the bathroom. He remembered feeling, and still felt, too worried to be more than ten minutes away from him. He worried about Sam and it tore him apart, but he knew that he, himself, hadn't been through the worst.

How could two brothers have such different childhoods?

A tear rolled down his cheek.

Bobby took a step closer and put a supportive hand on Dean's shoulder.

Dean continued crying. He had lost a father and Sam had been so distant, it seemed like he had lost him too. They never had any normal conversations anymore, just awkward "are you okay"'s and overwhelming yelling.

"We'll take care of it," Bobby said, with a smile only he could pull off.

**SPN-SPN-SPN**

It was past Christmas and a while since Jessica had last seen Sam. She decided not to dwell in the past anymore, because what was the point of that? She was not going to be one of those people who was obsessed with another person. She had decided that her life didn't revolve around one person. Jessica didn't need Sam in her life anymore, she wasn't going to cry about the guy that she had only known for a short amount of time, and had thought about all christmas holiday.

This wasn't fucking Romeo and Juliet.

But then again, she had not only been crying because he had broken-up with her, the saddest part was all the shit Sam had been through. It was beyond imaginable. She just wanted him to be happy. When Jessica cried about Sam, she didn't cry because he had been her girlfriend, she cried out of worry. What a horrible, miserable life he must have had. Jessica wondered if she had even helped at all. Sam had been through so much he didn't deserve and so many people barely acknowledge his existence. She cried over him because he was so nice yet so damaged. He was only fifteen and had already gone through hell.

_At least he's together with Dean now,_ she concluded.

**A/N: HOW DO I END THIS? I really don't know how to wrap things up.**

**Thanks for the reviews, dudes. :)**


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